


Sing Me Home To My Bones

by die_traumerei



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Body Worship, Civilian Bucky Barnes, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, GIANT NERD Bucky Barnes, Gray-ace Bucky Barnes, Gray-ace Steve Rogers, Light Angst, M/M, PTSD, Past Abuse, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Recovery, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, mild description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2010, Abraham Erskine perfected his formula for removing physical imperfections from human subjects.</p><p>In 2011, Steven Grant Rogers, along with 40 million other US citizens, applied to receive the formula. He was selected and, alongside volunteers from every NATO country, was given the formula. Representing a new breed of soldier – some said, a new breed of weapon – all of the super-soldiers saw extensive combat. None were killed in action.</p><p>In 2016, Steve Rogers offered his resignation from the post of Captain America. His request was granted, and he returned to Brooklyn, and civilian life.</p><p>Eight months after his resignation, he went out for a walk, and changed his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with the premise and opening scene while on a VERY LONG drive in the middle of nowhere in Uganda. Two and a half months later, it's as done as it will ever be, and I hope to hell I've done Steve and his journey justice. This wound up being quite a personal story, since over the course of writing it I: was too depressed to crawl out from under my duvet, managed to get a part-time (now full-time) job, actually fell in crush with TWO people which is a world record for me, moved into my own place, and have a start on the career I want. 
> 
> Warnings for specific chapters will be at the start of those chapters, but there's nothing very explicit in the story, either violence or sex-wise, for what it's worth.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! I've loved writing this so very, very much.

He never really lived it down, and eventually stopped arguing with their friends about it. Apparently all manner of super-soldier reflexes had totally failed him for five seconds exactly, which meant that Steve could avoid the squirrel running across the path but somehow stumbled and tripped trying to avoid the dog chasing it and fell painfully, all but actually face-planting on the rough concrete.

“Oh, shit! You okay, man?” A warm hand wrapped around his bicep, and helped Steve sit up. 

“Yeah, I'm fine, thanks,” Steve said automatically, because he always was, or would be.

“You're really not.” Steve shook his head for a moment and finally looked at his Good Samaritan. A man about his age, dressed casually. Dark hair, light eyes, square face, unshaven, expression open and concerned. He held a travel mug in one hand and Steve could just about smell the coffee in it. His hand on Steve's arm was warm, but gentle; the hold could be broken with little effort on Steve's part. Threat level: low.

He followed the stranger's eye-line and looked down to where his hand had been split open on a shard of broken glass. Blood welled up in his palm, already spilling down to his wrist, and he automatically closed his hand in a fist. Well, at least he hadn't severed any tendons or anything, although he was fairly sure his palm was cut open to the bone.

“Hey, you're gonna need stitches for that. You hurt anywhere else?” the man asked. His voice was nice, neither particularly high nor low, but with a little roughness that gave it character.

“No,” Steve said, after a moment to check what hurt. Bruises, maybe a scrape on the other hand, nothing serious. It took a lot to register as serious, after all. “And stitches'd be a waste of time, it'll close up soon.”

“Huh? Dude, I promise, you need stitches – oh.” The man had clearly looked at him more closely, had finally recognized him. Steve braced himself for whatever would come next. He really hoped the guy wouldn't want a selfie with him, not with blood halfway down his arm. “Huh, I guess you're right. Sure you're okay otherwise?”

Steve nodded and relaxed a little. The guy was one of the nice ones. He'd disappear now, maybe with a story for his friends, and Steve could get on with his life, such as it was.

“Good. C'mon, there's a bench just over here, we can at least be comfortable while you heal up.” The guy moved to a crouch, and managed to pull them both up. He kept his hand on Steve's arm, walking him over to a bench that was half-hidden under a big weeping willow.

Steve blinked a little when the guy sat down beside him. “I really will be okay. You don't need to wait with me.”

“I know, but you are kind of still actively bleeding. Wouldn't be right for me to just ditch you, y'know? Here.” The guy rummaged around in his bag and pulled out an honest-to-god handkerchief, a big one. Steve noted that it was a dark green plaid. He also pulled out a water bottle and wetted the cloth. “Let me see your arm?”

Steve held his arm out, and was only a little startled when he realized that one of the guy's hands was metal. He wrapped it around Steve's clenched fist, very gently, and it was pleasantly cool, but not cold.

“Keep the pressure on for now,” the guy instructed him, and _began to clean the blood off of Steve's arm_. Jesus Christ, the last person who actually bothered to patch him up – he guessed that it might be Dernier, that time Steve had caught a hollow-point bullet in his thigh. He needed a little help not bleeding out then.

“No! I mean,” Steve amended, pulling his arm away. “It'll stain.”

The guy shrugged. “Stains wash out. Now c'mon, hold still.” And he took Steve's arm again, cleaning it carefully. “Open your fingers just a bit – there,” he says, tucking the wad of fabric into the palm of Steve's hand. “That'll give you something to hold onto, at least.”

“Um. Thank you. You really don't have to sit with me, it'll be healed soon” Steve said. “And I don't want to make you late for work or anything.”

“You're not,” the guy assured him. “I pretty much set my own hours.” He smiled, sunny and charming. “By the way, I'm Bucky Barnes.”

“Uh. Steve Rogers,” Steve said, before remembering that, duh, the guy know that already.

“Pleased to meet you. Hey, do you want anything? Water? Or there's a great coffee shop around the corner, I can go run and get you something?”

Steve shook his head. “I'm fine, honest.” He'd be ravenous when he got home, more so than usual, but he wasn't gonna make this guy fetch a muffin for him or anything. Fuck, if he had that fancy a prosthetic – and it was  _very_ fancy – chances were he was ex-military, and Steve wasn't fit to be in his presence.

“Okay. You tell me if you change your mind, okay?” Bucky slouched back on the bench, long legs stretched out in front of him. 

“So. Uh. What do you do, that lets you set your own schedule?” Steve asked, after mentally desperately groping for some kind of small talk, since Bucky clearly was not about to leave his side. Which was nice of him, if wholly unnecessary.

“Engineer, really. Uh, the quick version is that I design a couple elements that get used in myoelectric prosthetic limbs. And robotics, but mostly the former.”

“Did you design yours?” Steve asked, and mentally kicked himself. He was fairly sure that was a stupid, if not horribly invasive question, and he was about to apologize when the guy smiled, and Steve's heart dropped to a point about ten feet below where it normally was. Bucky was good-looking enough as it was, but when he smiled, Steve was pretty sure he could wrap the whole world around his little finger, he was that handsome.

“Yeah, actually! It's sort of handy, I can test stuff out pretty easily.” Bucky pulled back his sleeve, and Steve saw that the metal continued up at least as far as Bucky's elbow. He wiggled his fingers and moved his wrist, twisting his hand in fluid, beautiful movements. The metal shone, though it wasn't polished to a mirror finish, and Steve reached out without thinking.

“Shit! Sorry, I just – um. You do good work.”

“Thanks, although most of what you see isn't my work.” Bucky smiled kindly, and reached for Steve's uninjured hand. “And it's okay, if you want to touch. You won't hurt me or anything.”

Steve curled his fingers in Bucky's, the two of them holding hands for a moment, before he let go. Gently, barely touching with more than his fingertips, Steve explored the metal plates that made up the arm. “Can you feel anything?”

“I can feel pressure pretty well – not as good as flesh and blood, but close,” Bucky explained. “Heat and cold a little, and I can toggle those on and off if I need to, which is a pretty neat trick when I can't find a potholder, if I may say so.”

Steve laughed, and stroked the plates one more time before pulling his hand back. Bucky's arm was fascinating, but he was pretty sure he was being rude, and he didn't want to add 'creepy' to that. “Thanks. It's gorgeous. Really.” Should he call Bucky's arm an it? Bucky in total was gorgeous but that was  _definitely_ creepy and  _why_ was he so bad at life?

Bucky's eyes dropped and he got a funny expression on his face, just for a moment, but it was quickly replaced by that warm smile. “Thanks. I'm pretty proud of it.”

“Rightfully so.” Steve blushed, and looked down. He checked the state of his hand, and was a little surprised at how disappointed he was that the skin almost knit back together, the bleeding slowed to a seep. “Hey. I'm really okay now.”

Bucky took his hand, gently uncurling his fingers and wiping the last traces of blood away. “Wow,” he said softly, and looked up to smile at Steve, face alight again in the way that made Steve's heart attempt to flee its earthly shell. “That was really fast.” He folded the wet handkerchief into a rectangular pad and closed Steve's hand around it. “Indulge me, okay? And if you need a few more minutes, you really aren't keeping me from anything, I promise.”

Steve shook his head, unable to hold back a shy smile. He didn't bother to tell Bucky that he'd gone into battle with worse wounds, that he'd healed on the move so many times. Just sitting and talking had been...nice, he finally decided. It had been nice. “It'll be like it never happened in fifteen minutes. And I live close by, I promise, so I can wash up at home.”

“Hey, cool, I live around here too! Do you know Happy's?”

Steve mentally scanned the neighborhood. Corner bar. Had probably started life as dive, now carried an array of Belgian beers and local microbrews. Big glass windows, dark interior, half the seating was old pews. He walked past it to get to the good bakery, but hadn't gone in yet because even  _he_ wasn't sad enough to drink alone. “Yeah.”

“Wanna meet up for a drink there tonight? Say six thirty?”

“Uh. Okay. Yeah, sure.” Steve smiled, and ducked his head. “A drink would be great.”

“Awesome.” Bucky wrapped his hand around Steve's one more time, squeezing lightly. “Hey, I know it'll be healed before you've even gotten out of the park, but take care of yourself, okay? That was a nasty spill.”

“I will,” Steve promised, standing up. “I'm really okay, though, honest.”

“I know, just.” Bucky shrugged. “Anyway. Which way are you heading?”

Steve nodded his head away from the entrance to the park, and Bucky pouted. A grown man  _actually pouted_ at him, and Steve was going to have to give his heart a stern talking-to, because it shouldn't be that adorable.

“No fair, I'm headed in the opposite direction. See you tonight, though?”

“Happy's, 6:30,” Steve promised, and turned so that he wouldn't totally shame himself by watching Bucky walk away. “And thank you. Really, you didn't have to stop and help me.”

“Whatever. Have a good day,” Bucky called over his shoulder, and the two parted ways.

 

* * *

 

Steve slipped in the door and scanned the bar interior. Dark, but not too much so. There were people there but it wasn't crowded, and it was still relatively quiet. (He had been deaf in one ear for longer than he hadn't and some habits died hard.)

Bucky was already there and had grabbed a booth in a corner, and Steve smiled when he waved.

“Hey,” Bucky said, grinning across the table once Steve had sat down. “Glad you could make it.”

“Well, I had to clear my busy schedule, but I made it work.” Steve matched his grin, just a little shyly. “Oh, hey. Here.” He passed a neat square of green tartan across the table. “I swear I washed all the blood out, so it's not all gross or anything.”

“Aw, man, you didn't have to do that. Thanks, though.” Bucky grinned and took the cloth back. “How's the hand?”

Steve held his hand out, palm-up, and let Bucky see.

Bucky reached out and closed warm fingers around it.  “ Good as new,” he murmured, and smiled at Steve through his eyelashes. “Wow. I know it's not a big deal for you, but you were cut pretty bad.”

Steve shrugged, and pulled his hand back. “All okay in the end. Buy you a drink?”

Bucky nodded to the heavy glass in front of him. “I'm good, but thanks. What're you getting?”

“Um.” Steve looked at the giant chalkboard listing what was available, and tried not to freeze up. “What's good?”

“Well, what kind of beer do you like?”

“...Beer?” Steve tried, and smiled when Bucky laughed. “Yeah, I'm a philistine.”

“Okay, okay. Try this and tell me what you think,” Bucky said, pushing his glass across the table. Steve took a sip and nodded, a little surprised. It was good, dark and flavorful and _strong_.

“Hm. So this is a St. Bernardas 12 degree. You might also like the Piraat?” Bucky suggested. “That's a little sweeter, maybe a little spicier.”

“Bucky, I'm used to Light or not-Light, subtlety is lost on me,” Steve admitted. “I'll try the, um, what you said though.”

“Piraat,” Bucky supplied. “Go up and ask for a taste, see if you like it.”

“Okay.” Steve smiled shyly. “Sure I can't get you anything?”

“Get a basket of frites, if you're so dead-set on it,” Bucky ordered. “The aioli is to die for.”

“Frites coming up,” Steve promised, and went to go get his beer.

The beer was great, and the aioli  _was_ to die for, and Bucky was funny and charming. He didn't mention the Captain America stuff, except to ask if Steve knew the guy currently holding the title. (He did. James Whitehorse was a Coeur d'Alene former-police officer and he was a vastly better Cap than Steve ever had been, and he told Bucky so. For awhile he'd had a spate of being asked onto various news shows to comment on the new Captain America being Native. Fox News had been his particular favorite – they'd cut his mic only about halfway through his frankly incandescent response to being asked how he felt about being replaced by a non-White guy. Steve had requested the uncut video, and promptly uploaded it to YouTube. Steve no longer got media invitations.)

So instead Bucky learned that Steve liked Adventure Time and Edward Hopper's paintings and he still marathon-watched MST3K every Thanksgiving. And Steve learned that Bucky had spent the day designing components for articulated robots (“Like spiders, but less efficiently designed. For the moment.”) and that he was a sucker for Disney films. Steve can't get drunk, but Bucky gets tipsy, and is absolutely  _adorable_ .

“So how did you get into robotics?” Steve asked, after he'd finally talked Bucky into letting him buy a round. The frites were long gone, but they'd both got burgers, and Bucky set his down a moment to talk.

“Always loved stuff like this, I guess? I like looking at how things work in nature and trying to reproduce it. Make it better if I can. I like how...how things move? Does that make sense? Like, I love watching how people walk. Just walking down the street, you can see so _much_ in it.” Bucky grinned, and took another enormous bite, talking again when he had swallowed. “So I always loved stuff like that, and then I lost my arm in high school – shitty car accident – and I wanted a prosthetic that actually, you know, worked like a hand. I pretty shamelessly exploited it for college entrance essays, obviously.”

Steve grinned, utterly charmed. “Somehow I think you'd have got in anyway. Sorry about the arm, by the way.”

“Thanks, but don't be, please.” Bucky's smile was easy and gentle. “I mean, yeah, it sucked at the time, but it doesn't slow me down.”

Steve blushed, and started apologizing until Bucky reached over and touched his wrist. “Hey, hey, no. You didn't say anything wrong, Steve. Just don't feel sorry for me, or anything like that, okay?”

Steve smiled. “Believe me, I wasn't intending to.” His schedule was pretty full with feeling sorry for himself, after all, and Bucky was...amazing. Witty. Brilliant. Gorgeous. Definitely not pitiful in any way.

Steve wondered if he was actually getting tipsy.

“Good. So, you let me babble at you about my life, what d'you do, Steve?”

Just like he was any guy, like Bucky would ask any of his dates, except this wasn't a date because why would it be a date?

Steve checked all the exits in his line of sight, in order, left to right.

“Steve?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “I'm...uh. Not doing much at the moment.” He rubbed the back of his head and stared at his plate. “Just getting used to Brooklyn again.”

“Yeah? You used to live here?”

“Grew up here,” Steve admitted. “Seriously, like, not far from here.” He smiled shyly at Bucky. “It's not real different, I mean, obviously, but, uh, I'm getting used to civilian life, I guess.”

“Yeah. I work with a few veterans, it really takes time, I guess.” Bucky shrugged. “Do you like being back?”

“Um. Yes?” Steve smiled weakly. “I wanted to get out.”

“Hmm. Oh, hey, I know something new – have you been to the cat café yet?”

“The what?”

“It's a café. With cats. Like, as a feature.” Bucky leaned forward, his eyes lighting up, and Steve went lightheaded for a moment. “It's really cool! They've got a load of rescued cats and the interior is all full of cubbies and things for the cats to play on, and also they do amazing cinnamon toast. You're not allergic, are you?”

“Not anymore,” Steve said, smiling. “I get the feeling I'll be meeting you there soon?”

“What're you doing Saturday afternoon?”

“Cat café with you. Uh. I assume?”

“You assume right.” Bucky grinned. “It's just three blocks west of here. Meet you there at two?”

“It's a date. Uh.”

Bucky smiled, kind and understanding. “How about two friends meeting for a cup of coffee for right now?”

“I...” Steve took a deep breath. “Friends for right now is good. Really good.”

“Yeah.” Bucky winked, but his smile was warm and gentle and friendly and Steve was pretty sure that it would be a date someday.

 

* * *

 

“I'm the favorite,” Bucky said smugly, as a beautiful tabby cat settled in his lap. “Please mark this day for all time. Anoia preferred Bucky Barnes to Captain America. As did Chairman Meow. And Bitty.” He held his hand out to an absolutely enormous fluffy cat perched on the back of the old sofa, just over his shoulder, who purred and rubbed her face against the hard metal. “Don't you, Bitty?”

Steve laughed, settling into the overstuffed armchair. “One, I'm not Captain America anymore, so you're only being picked over Steve Rogers. Two, I guess they can tell I'm more of a dog person?”

“Oh, well, being the favorite over Steve Rogers, that's nothing,” Bucky teased, and winked at Steve. “And the important thing is that I'm the favorite.”

Steve mock-sighed. “Yes. You are the favorite,” he allowed graciously. “Amongst cats. At this one location.”

“Sarcasm suits you surprisingly well, you know.” Bucky slouched on the sofa, careful not to dislodge his followers. “Brings out your eyes.”

“I can safely say that absolutely no one has ever said that to me before,” Steve said raising an eyebrow. “I'm not sure whether I should thank you for the compliment or not.”

“You're very welcome,” Bucky said, with overstated graciousness. “See, isn't this place great?”

“It really is,” Steve said, as Bucky carefully moved his coffee cup to avoid a cat's tail. “Thanks for dragging me out here.”

“Hey, it's my pleasure, really.” Bucky's smile softened. “How was the rest of your week?”

“Well, it didn't involve bloodshed?” Steve had gone to a VA meeting every day, except for Friday when he'd slept until noon and then walked aimlessly around until dark. Over his dead body was he going to tell Bucky that, though. “Boring. How about you?”

Bucky shrugged. “Pretty much the usual. Got a new contract with I-can't-say-which-company-just-yet, which promises to be pretty good for everything from my reputation to my bank account.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Do you mostly do commercial work?”

“Yes.” Bucky smiled wryly. “It's okay, you don't have to respect me in the morning.”

“No! It's not that,” Steve tried to protest. “I just. Uh.”

“It's okay,” Bucky said, and sighed. “Look, I would love to design artificial limbs for children in the developing world. For what it's worth, I _have_ done that. On several occasions. It's usually pretty awful.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“You know who's really good at giving me clear direction on what they want, giving useful and timely feedback and _paying me on time_? Commercial companies. Usually they've got a sub-corporation or something to do charitable work, but frankly, I like being able to pay rent, and I like not spending most of my time tracking down the thirty people required to approve my designs.” Bucky's smile turned sad. “And even when I _do_ get something designed, and someone actually comes up with the money to produce it, half the time it can't even get into that developing country because of infrastructure problems. And if it does get there, and it's somehow properly fitted and maintained, what happens when the kid outgrows the thing, after whatever charity it was has left the area?” 

“I guess I see what you're saying,” Steve admitted. “Be pretty shitty of me to disapprove of you taking a...a different route.” Fuck, at least Bucky hadn't totally given up. He was still _doing_ things, and so what if it wasn't in the Steve-approved manner? His righteousness had pretty much failed at accomplishing anything.

“Hey. I have _some_ standards. And I do what I can, but honestly...I think I do more good in the private sector than anywhere else.” Bucky shrugged, running his fingers through the nearest cat's fur. “And I can pay my mortgage and buy clothes from places other than the thrift shop _and_ get to do what I'm best at. I'd be pretty shitty at anything other than making machines to mimic human joints.” He smiled shyly. “Steve, I get to meet people who have things I designed as a part of them. I can't tell you how cool that is.”

“I can imagine,” Steve said softly, trying to forget how his heart rocked at Bucky's words. He was _not_ ready to fall for someone. “Hey. I'm sorry. You know your work better than I do, and you're clearly amazing at it. I'm sorry if...if I gave you the impression that I disapproved of you. Or what you do.”

“Oh, honey. No, it's okay. There's a reason I have a whole spiel. Besides, I spent a couple years heartily disapproving of _you_ , if it helps?”

“Huh? Oh. Oh, _no_.” Steve groaned and rubbed his eyes. “When I volunteered for the serum. How many times did you show up to protest?”

“Like four. Sorry.”

“Hey.” Steve shot him a look. “How's the guy with the top-of-the-line realistic prosthetic arm get away with bitching about me erasing my disabilities?”

“By only having the arm for the last two years?” Bucky smiled. “Also by being a really self-righteous asshole for a few years. I'm sorry.”

Steve shrugged. “I mean, you weren't wrong. But you know what you said about being able to accomplish more doing sometimes-shitty things?”

“Hey, you volunteered for a pretty awful procedure,” Bucky said softly, reaching out and touching Steve's wrist, just for a moment. “And then you went to war. I think you paid your dues, Steve.” He smiled softly. “And for what it's worth, I'm glad you're not in chronic pain anymore.”

Steve winced. He had mostly gotten used to people knowing way more about him than he knew about them, but from Bucky...it was weird. Wrong. They should be able to get to know each other without the Captain hanging over him. “Thanks. Uh. If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about being Cap.”

“Of course. I'm sorry,” Bucky apologized.

“You didn't know.” Steve managed a weak smile. “Fuck. I'm not a great person right now.”

“You are, actually,” Bucky assured him, petting yet _another_ cat that had come to curl up near him. “Still friends?”

“What? I mean – yes. Yes, if you want to be,” Steve said, and flushed at the smile Bucky gave him. He was _so gone_ it was stupid.

“Then we just learned that we're friends who can have a go at one another, screw up a bit, and still be friends.” 

Steve relaxed in the chair and laughed when a cat finally deigned to jump into his lap. “Okay. Good.”

* * *

It was one of the good days. Steve let himself into his apartment, carefully juggling the bags from the really good farmer's market, ignoring his buzzing phone for the moment. He'd picked up a bouquet of daisies on a whim, and wanted to get them into water, and get the rapidly-melting ice cream put away at least.

Duties done, he checked his phone, not at all surprised to see a text from Bucky. They'd chatted a little bit, on and off, and said hi at least once a day since their afternoon at the cat caf é .  _hey you run. are you in the half marathon on sunday?_

Considering he'd win, no. Running in a marathon...would not help with the whole blending-in, keeping his head down thing.  _no. are you?_

The response was almost immediate.  _steven rogers I do not run unless being chased. and it's gotta be something BIG chasing me._

Steve laughed and called Bucky, since it was easier to talk and put away groceries.

“I mean, really big. Like, in danger of losing another limb.”

“I get it! Why'd you want to know anyway?”

“Well, if you were running I was gonna volunteer to be your support. Since you're not, wanna go and cheer and eat dubious food from trucks instead?”

Steve grinned, and knelt to start filling the produce shelf. “Sounds like a plan. What time d'you want to meet?”

“The crazy people start running at eight, so want to meet at nine? We can fill up on grease and still be there to cheer as they get in.”

“And sleep in a little, but that's obviously not important to you.” The one time Steve had texted Bucky before eight in the morning, he'd received a sleeping emoticon in return. Followed by a sonnet to Bucky's bed in the early afternoon.

“Perish the thought. Anyway, how's your day going?”

“Good. It's...good, actually,” Steve said, utterly failing to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Good.” Bucky's voice was warm, surprisingly tender for a man who seemed unusually devoted to making sure Steve didn't take himself too seriously. “Doing anything fun?”

“Grocery shopping is not un-fun. Gonna bake bread, I think. How about you?”

“Ooooh, you bake? I'm gonna stalk you more than I already am.”

“You're not stalking me.”

“I'll be sure to start. Seriously, how are you at pies?”

“My blueberry pie has been known to reduce a grown man to tears,” Steve said seriously, and eyed the pile of the first of the summer crop he'd picked up. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Please tell me I am allowed to come over and eat pie.”

Steve laughed. “You're always allowed to come over, Buck. But yeah, dinner tonight? My place?”

“Only if you want to eat stupidly late,” Bucky said apologetically. “I've got a teleconference until eight, sorry.”

“Dessert and coffee then?”

“Yes, please,” Bucky said. “It'll be good to see you, Steve.”

“You too,” Steve said, and they bid each other goodbye, Bucky to work and Steve to start making a piecrust.

 


	2. June

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is mention of violence and war in this chapter, but it's largely vague, and all violence takes place off-screen. A minor character is injured as part of ongoing war -- if you need to skip that part, scroll down to the first set of asterisks.

Steve grinned when he saw Bucky was calling, and answered with a “No, I will not bake you another pie.”

“Steve, have you seen the news?” Bucky's voice was soft and worried. “About Afghanistan.”

Steve went cold. “What? No.”

“It's all over the BBC. Falsworth got caught in a firefight, but he'll be fine. I promise, they're saying he'll be okay.” Bucky's voice was so _worried_ , Steve had thought for a moment he really had missed something.

“Oh, yeah. James – the new Cap – texted me a couple hours ago. Nasty stuff, but they got their target.”

Bucky was silent for a moment, then. “You...don't sound concerned?”

“I'm not. He's a super-soldier, we're the next thing to unkillable.” Steve smiled and curled up on the sofa. “He'll be back in the field next week, seriously.”

“I have no idea what to say to that,” Bucky said after a long pause. “You're seriously not concerned that your friend, a member of your unit, was severely injured a few hours ago?”

“...No? Buck, it happened to all of us, more than once.” Steve shrugged uncomfortably. “It sucks, but the job still needs doing. I know Monty, he's probably making filthy jokes already.”

“You got hurt this bad too?” Bucky's voice scaled up as he spoke, wavering a little. 

“Bucky, did you live in a cave for the last couple years? Yeah. Not, like, every week, but I've seen the inside of a field hospital more than once in my time.” Steve softened his voice, not wanting to worry him. “Never spent more than a few days away from the front, 'cept for when I had leave. And you've seen yourself how I don't even scar.”

“I...but...oh my _God_. You were _hurt_ , and you got sent right back into a war? What, did they fucking rig up an IV so you could still run and shoot?”

“Only a few times,” Steve said without thinking, and winced at the silence this brought. He and his counselor had talked about dropping bombs like that on people. And now he had a people he _cared_ about.

“Jesus fucking Christ, we can't destroy ourselves quickly enough on this goddamn planet.” Bucky's voice was low and angry. “They treated you like a weapon, and now you won't see your friend any other way. I can't _believe_ you, Steve.”

“Hey! Fuck you, you don't know anything about it.” He and Falsworth had saved each others' lives a dozen times, he would _never_ think of him as a weapon. Monty was put-on upperclass accents and pitch-perfect _Black Books_ recitations, all dry humor and brilliant tactics.

“I can't. I can't right now. Sorry, Steve.” And Bucky hung up.

“Well, fuck you too then, I guess,” Steve told his phone. They'd talked plenty in group about how civilians just didn't _get_ it, and it felt half the time that being a super-soldier was one further step away from – well, from fitting in. From being a part of the world, not just existing in it.

Falsworth was never a weapon to Steve, though.  _Never_ . And he took a deep breath and sat down to write the man an e-mail for the next time he could get to a computer.

 

* * *

 

Steve froze at the knocking on his door. It was past ten, and it wasn't exactly like he got visitors regularly even when it  _wasn't_ late.

There was a knife taped to the underside of the table next to his apartment's front door, and a decorative and very heavy Masai stick hung up on the wall. Come to that, his fists alone would take down anyone not too heavily armed.

He stole towards the door, leaving the lights off and walking soundlessly, eyes scanning constantly. Steve could move in total silence when he needed to, and there was no way anyone on the other side of the door could hear him when he checked the peephole.

He let out a sigh when all he saw was Bucky, hands fidgeting on the strap of his messenger bag. His usually tamed hair was messy, short strands gone curly and tangled. Steve watched him bite his lip and look around, then blink hard.

“Oh, for God's sake,” he muttered to himself, flipped on the interior light and opened the door. “Bucky.”

“Hey.” He smiled shyly. “I'm sorry, I know it's late. I just...I was on my way home. And I wanted to apologize.”

“You were working until ten on a Friday night?”

“Well, yeah.” Bucky ducked his head, then visibly forced himself to look up and meet Steve's eyes. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you on the phone. I fucked up. I'm glad your friend is gonna be okay,” he finished, voice softer than ever. “And I'm really sorry you got hurt. When you were over there.”

“Oh, Jesus, Buck. Get in here,” Steve said, and he meant to step aside to let Bucky in, he really did. Except he found himself reaching out and pulling Bucky into a hug, just holding him for a minute. “Asshole.”

“Hey, you hang out with me, what's that say about you?” Bucky mumbled into his neck, hugging back just as tightly. 

“My poor taste in friends predates you, you know.” Steve murmured. “Hey. I have beer and a comfy sofa.”

Bucky hugged him a little tighter, just for a moment, then finally let go. “I have rugelach. Just from a supermarket, but still.”

Steve laughed and ushered Bucky in through the door, arm around his shoulders. “I'm not judging.” He got them settled on the sofa, glad he'd gotten a six pack of something decent the last time he was at the bottle shop.

“So, um.” Bucky played with the fraying edge of his jeans, and once again visibly forced himself to look up and meet Steve's eyes. “I'm sorry. I should never have said that about how you saw Monty Falsworth. I don't know anything about your life as Cap, and I shouldn't have assumed. I'm really _really_ sorry, and I swear it won't happen again.”

Steve couldn't help but smile and reach out a little to touch Bucky's arm lightly, running his fingertip along where metal plates joined together. “Thank you. That was a dick thing to say, but I guess I can see how you got there.”

Bucky shrugged. “Steve, I haven't even been in a schoolyard fight, let alone a warzone. I shouldn't have...have applied the same rules, I guess.” He smiled sadly. “He's definitely gonna be okay though?”

“Definitely,” Steve assured him, not a little touched at how much Bucky seemed to care about someone he'd barely heard of. “I got another text an hour or two ago from James, and he's already awake and talking.”

Bucky shook his head slowly, smile growing. “You guys really are unkillable.”

“Not entirely, but pretty close,” Steve admitted. “I got some pretty nasty holes in me, and never been in bed longer than a few days.”

Bucky shivered, and took a long drink of his beer. “Sorry about the living in a cave and being totally unaware of Captain America,” he mumbled. “I think I kinda have been, in some ways. And I don't wanna just google you, you know?”

Steve grinned at him. “I don't want you to learn about me from the internet either.” No, never that. Bucky wasn't a fan, he was a  _friend_ . “I'm right here. Me. Steve.”

“Not Cap, not anymore,” Bucky agreed. “Steve.” He smiled, charming and beautiful in the soft light of Steve's living room. “So tell me about Steve.”

“Steve is pretty fucked up.” He bit his lip and sat back against the arm of the sofa. “I guess you've figured out that I don't have a job.”

“Hey. First rule of talking about Steve, you don't get to talk about yourself like that,” Bucky said, a little anger in his voice. “You're getting used to civilian life. And civilian life as yourself _after_ the serum, it must be totally different for you.”

“It...is, actually,” Steve admitted. Bucky was the first to notice that he was in a different _body_ too, as far as he could remember. “But seriously, it's been nine months. And I don't think I _could_ hold down a job, still, even if I had any idea of what I wanted to do,” he added. “Buck, I'm really not okay.”

“Do you have people to help you?” Bucky asked gently. “Please tell me you at least have help.”

“I have people to help,” Steve confirmed. “And drugs.” He smiled wryly. “Although finding a dose that worked on my metabolism was an interesting adventure.”

“I imagine so.” Bucky reached out a hand, twining his fingers with Steve's. “Hey. You're _recovering_ , Steve. I _know_ you know that there's no deadline for that.”

“God, you're as bad as my entire group session put together,” Steve grumbled. “Just. Look. I like you, Bucky. We're friends. And I'm getting better, but I'm gonna have bad days and just...I don't wanna hurt you accidentally.”

“Oh, Stevie.” Bucky put his beer aside and shook his head. “You're totally gonna hurt me. And I'm gonna say stupid shit and hurt you. Neither of us are perfect, but we'll yell and get angry and hurt and then one of us'll apologize to the other. Recent events have proved that that's pretty effective, y'know?”

Steve laughed, only a little ragged-sounding. “You're good at this.”

“I had some rough times too, myself, y'know.” Bucky shifted so he could hug his knees tight.

“Losing your arm?” Steve asked softly.

“Mmm. And I had a hard time coming out. Think I'm still out of Grandma Barnes' will.”

“Her stupid loss,” Steve muttered. 

“My thoughts exactly. Sadly, not the thoughts of my sixteen-year-old self,” Bucky said. “Oh, hey. Since we're doing the minefield talk – I really don't do well with medical stuff. Any kind of serious injuries...just no. I mostly don't freak out anymore, but I get kind of a mess.”

“Understandable,” Steve said. “And in that case, you really are forbidden to google me, okay?”

Bucky shivered and nodded. “Understood.”

They sat together quietly a little longer, until Bucky yawned and Steve laughed at him.

“Sleepy?”

“Mph. Fourteen hour day catching up with me, 'm sorry.”

“Don't be. And you shouldn't work so hard,” Steve chided, moving away to pull Bucky to his feet. “You okay to walk home?”

Bucky nodded, rubbing at his eyes and shoving his hair back off of his forehead. “Promise. Hey. Thank you. I was a dick to you, and you've been really understanding.”

“Well, yeah. You didn't mean to be, really.” Steve walked him to the door and gave Bucky a hug goodbye. “Text me when you get home?”

“Yes, Ma.” Bucky smiled, though, and kissed Steve's cheek, and let himself out while Steve was still a little too dumbfounded to do much.

_Got home safe. Thanks for the beer. And everything else._

Steve smiled at the text, and replied.  _Anytime, Buck. Thanks for dropping by._

 

* * *

 

“Oh my God, please talk to me before I commit an act of violence on this computer.”

Steve laughed so hard he had to pause in the middle of the street. “Okay, but I've got group in fifteen minutes.”

“Shit! Sorry. Ignore me.”

“Bucky, no. I can talk to you and walk down the street at the same time,” Steve said.

“Hmm. There's a joke there about blonds and super-soldier serum...” Steve could _hear_ the grin in Bucky's voice.

“Which you will not be making if you want me to drop by with hot chocolate when I'm done.”

“What joke?” Bucky said. “Baby, you don't have to do that, though. I'm just fighting with some 3D rendering and been staring at a computer for too long.”

“That is _exactly_ why I have to stop by the fancy patisserie,” Steve argued. “You'll ruin your eyesight. Stare at a pile of hot chocolate and whipped cream instead.”

“Steve, I don't want to hear any arguments from you when I start getting fat.”

“You say fat, I say extra-huggable. Hey dipshit, guess what?” Steve said, neatly dodging a woman with a double stroller.

“What?”

“You're gorgeous no matter what.”

There was a long pause, and then Bucky's voice, softer than usual. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” Steve said, just as gently.

“I do too.” Bucky cleared his throat. “So. Seriously, when should I expect you and your many temptations?”

Steve laughed. “Say, ninety minutes? I'll text you if I'm gonna be later. Oh, hey! Before I forget.”

“Yes, I'll run away with you to Paris and live in sin while we leave this poor world behind,” Bucky deadpanned.

“Bucky...actually, I don't want to know. Shut up, I'm being serious with you,” Steve said.

“What's up, honey?”

“I just...I never thanked you for calling me the other day, to tell me about Monty. It kinda got lost in the us being assholes,” Steve said. “But that was incredibly kind of you. Thank you.”

“Hey, of course. Steve, of _course_ I called you,” Bucky said. “No thanks needed. He's doing okay?”

Steve smiled, and it felt like the sun was coming out, because Bucky  _cared_ . “He's fine.”

“Good.”

“I gotta go,” Steve said, leaning against the wall of the VA building. “Go for a walk or something, I'm sorry I can't talk longer.”

“Shut up, and go take care of yourself. I'll see you soon?”

“Ninety minutes,” Steve promised. “Bye honey.”

“Bye honey-yourself.”

 

* * *

 

Steve looked up at the roof of the blanket fort they had built. His quilt – dark blue and red – hung above them, secured onto heavy cord to give the fort its shape.

It turned out that Bucky was an expert at building blanket forts. And, apparently, wiring them up, if the fairy lights strung above them were anything to go by.

He snuggled down into the pile of sofa and throw pillows that made up the floor of the fort, and rested his head on Bucky's shoulder for a moment, smiling a little at the hard metal under his temple. Bucky's arm was totally unique in the world, which meant there was nowhere else he could be, and no one else he could be with in that moment. “Hey Buck?”

“Yeah Stevie?”

“Are we dating?”

He looked up and met Bucky's gaze, serious for once.

“Do you want to be?”

“Uh. I don't specifically _not_ want to date you.” He expected an exasperated huff, but got an understanding smile, and thought about changing his answer to one less qualified. “I'm sorry. I'm not much of a catch these days.”

“Neither am I, to be honest,” Bucky said. “I know I like you – a lot. But I also know I would do anything to not hurt you, and that includes not dating you right now, maybe. _Not_ because of anything about you,” he rushed to assure. “Because of some stuff I'm still...trying to not let determine my life.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Steve asked, shifting so they could curl together, facing one another.

“Not really?” Bucky made a face. “I'll tell you someday, I promise. Just not yet. And not while sober, probably.”

“Okay.” Steve reached out, and Bucky squirmed a little closer so that they were cuddled together, Bucky tucked against Steve's chest. He wasn't a small man at all, but Steve was definitely broader and ran far more to muscle. “Friends, then? Friends who cuddle,” he amended.

“Friends who spend all their free time together,” Bucky agreed. “And cuddle. And hug a lot. Hugs are important.”

“Very important,” Steve agreed mock-seriously. “And hey. I like you a lot too, y'know.”

“Good.” Bucky squirmed a little closer. “It's not a race, right? We can start kissing and stuff anytime.”

Steve laughed, and gave Bucky a loud, smacky kiss on his forehead. “So you say.” He laughed harder when Bucky tried to shove him away, easily holding the other man totally still.

He wasn't prepared for Bucky to go pale and shove his chest  _hard_ . “Steve, don't, let go of me.”

He did, immediately, sitting up and skidding away. “Bucky? I'm so sorry --”

Bucky shook his head and closed his eyes, breathing deeply once, twice. He was flushed when he opened his eyes again, and held out his hand to Steve. “Sorry, sorry. I just – don't ever hold me down, or keep me from moving? Please?”

“Of course not. Never, ever again,” Steve promised, and Bucky crawled over to him, pointedly wrapping Steve's arms back around his shoulders. “I'm so sorry.”

Bucky gave a breathless laugh. “You didn't know. I'm sorry too. I know you won't ever hurt me, just...”

“Never,” Steve breathed, reaching one hand up to stroke the soft, short hair at the nape of Bucky's neck. “I will never, ever intentionally hurt you in any way, I swear it, Bucky. I promise you, forever.”

“I know,” Bucky said, and his voice was rough and sad, and Steve rocked him a little, still petting gently. “Ugh. I'll tell you the whole stupid story someday.”

“Whenever you're ready,” Steve said, and laid them both down again, smiling sadly. “Sorry. You came over to cheer me up, and I practically gave you a panic attack. I'd offer you some of my amazing array of anti-anxieties, but I don't think we can cut the pills small enough to be safe.

Bucky laughed, and relaxed with a happy sigh. “I'm fine, baby, really. Just had a moment.”

“Mmm. So you don't need that ice cream in my freezer with our names on it then?”

“I didn't say that.”

 


	3. July

“So I've baked cookies, and you live less than half a mile away. Just saying.”

Bucky laughed, and Steve couldn't stop an answering grin, even though it could hardly be seen over the phone. “Someday you're gonna get more friends, and I'll be screwed.”

“Nah, I'll just make bigger batches. Can't have you going without, Buck.”

“Well, that's fair then,” Bucky said. 

“Exactly. So. Can I come over?” He could _hear_ Bucky hesitating. “I'm free all weekend if right now is bad. Cookies'll keep.”

“Unless you eat 'em all, and I've seen you eat, Rogers,” Bucky said, and hesitated. “Sorry. I mean, now is fine, I'm just cleaning, certainly don't mind an excuse to stop just.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, it's stupid. It's just that my arm is off for the weekend – had to leave it at the lab for some maintenance, a few upgrades. And, um, you haven't seen me without the arm before...”

“Baby, I've seen people who are missing limbs before,” Steve said gently. “It's okay. I totally understand if you want alone time, but I would _love_ to come over and feed us both and hang out.”

Bucky sighed. “Sorry. I mean, it's just me being...weird. Um. I should warn you, I do look really strange, there's probably a lot more prosthetic and a lot less me than you think. But yeah.” His voice got a little stronger. “Yeah, come over. Ignore me being an idiot. What kind of cookies did you make, by the way?”

Steve laughed. “Chocolate macadamia, and you're really bad at deflection, has anyone ever told you?”

“Shut up, I am amazing at everything.”

“Uh huh. I'll be over in ten. Want me to grab anything on the way?”

“Nah, I'm all good here. See you soon.”

 

 

Steve rang the buzzer to Bucky's apartment exactly ten minutes later. When he got up to Bucky's floor, he found him standing in his doorway, smiling shyly.

“Hey you,” Steve said, walking down the hallway in a very few long steps to pull Bucky into a hug. He was wearing a t-shirt and okay, it was a _little_ startling to see one sleeve hanging empty, and there was a noticeable angle between Bucky's side and the plane of his shoulder – he must have lost the whole shoulder joint, Steve realized, but all of that was way less important in that moment than the warm, strong arm coming around his back, and the way Bucky's head rested on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, and Steve smiled, and hugged him a little tighter.

“Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

“Thanks for bringing me treats.” Bucky finally pulled away so that Steve could come in, and they settled on the sofa, shamelessly happy with a plate of cookies and matching glasses of milk.

“Hey. You wanna see what it looks like, where my arm attaches?” Bucky asked, after they'd done the usual catching-up. (Which, since they'd last seen each other three days before, hadn't exactly taken long.)

“Actually – yeah. If you don't mind?” Steve smiled shyly, and blushed when Bucky laughed. 

“No, sorry, it's just – hold still. You've got chocolate on your face.” Bucky reached over and rubbed a little just next to Steve's mouth. “There. And yeah, I don't mind, not really.” He offered a crooked smile. “I _want_ to not mind. And it's not like it'll affect how you see me.”

“Not in the least,” Steve promised him. “Sweetie, it's a part of you. Everything you went through and probably what it means to have the prosthetic now – it's an undeniable part of you. But there's so much more of you, too.”

Bucky shook his head and took a deep breath. “Yeah, like you say. Anyway – here, it's easier this way,” he said, and pulled his shirt off in a smooth, practiced motion and  _holy mother of Jesus he was gorgeous_ . Steve tried to not too obviously let his eyes rove up and down Bucky's slim, muscled torso, the planes of his stomach, his chest – with  _precisely_ the right amount of dark hair – out to his shoulders. Bucky dressed very well, and looked deceptively slim, and Steve had not been expecting this much – well, perfection.

The smirk on Bucky's face showed that he had not been subtle in the least. Well, good.

He hoped that the oxygen flow to his brain would restart before he really did embarrass himself, though.

Steve cleared his throat and tried to focus on the slope of Bucky's left shoulder. There was a metal socket there, the skin of his chest and shoulder attached to a clear, plasticky-looking ring around the socket. There were fine scars all around the ring, and a longer one radiating out along Bucky's collarbone. When Bucky shifted so that Steve could see the joint better, he noticed that more long scars went along his shoulder blade.

The socket itself was silver, deceptively simple with a smooth surface and a deep, round indentation in the middle.

“Whoa,” Steve whispered, not sure what he was expecting, but this futuristic beauty wasn't it.

“Yeah, it's...something,” Bucky said after a moment's hesitation.

“It's _beautiful_ ,” Steve murmured. “Tell me about it? Use small words, but I want to know, please?”

He looked up in time to see Bucky blink hard, and then give Steve one of the most incredible smiles he'd ever seen. “Thanks. It's...okay, it's actually easier if we start with what you can't see. Um. So I actually lost my whole arm in the car accident. Like, from the shoulder joint down, that's why I look a little like a baseball shirt. And, I mean, I broke a few other bones and a few internal organs got some temporary extra holes, but my collarbone, scapula and everything were basically fine. Except if I'm gonna have a relatively heavy metal arm hanging off of my body, it needs something to hang off  _of_ , you know?”

“Sure?” Steve laughed. “I'm sorry, you deserve to tell this story to someone who can appreciate it better than I can.”

“Shut up. I've told this story to plenty of brilliant specialists, and it sucks. Telling you is...nice,” Bucky said, sounding a little surprised at himself. “ _Anyway_. So. Once we knew this whole thing was going down, they went in and basically plated everything around the shoulder joint with titanium, including part of my spine. And not working out is not an option for me – I _have_ to keep the muscles strong, especially on my right side, because that's where I create a kind of counterweight with my body. Even with the lightest metals available, one side of me is significantly heavier than the other.”

“Wow,” Steve said softly, reaching out to run a fingertip along Bucky's collarbone. “That's...I had no idea.”

“Don't feel too bad for me. I also get regular massages to help with the muscle strain and everything.” Bucky winked, and pressed his hand over Steve's. “Hey. Don't be afraid to touch me. You won't hurt me.”

“Good.” Steve hovered his hand over the metal socket. “It it okay here?”

Bucky paused for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Yeah . Just – be really gentle, please? Sometimes I get some odd feedback there.”

Steve nodded and ghosted a fingertip over the smooth, warm metal, smiling when Bucky giggled.

“It feels like you're touching my forearm, right there,” he explained. “God, you really have a soft touch, don't you?”

Steve blushed. “It's from...I mean, I suddenly woke up in this huge body, you know? I don't want to hurt anyone by accident, so I trained myself to be extra-careful.” He smiled wryly. “I spent a lot of time running into walls and stuff first.”

“Oh, Steve.” Bucky reached out with his right hand and squeezed Steve's arm for a moment. “You're pretty amazing at this – you'd think people who worked with delicate robotics would have good fine muscle control, but that is a lie, based on some of the prodding I've gotten.”

Steve frowned at that. “Well, they shouldn't be allowed to touch you, then.”

Bucky laughed, and brushed his hand over Steve's fingers, now resting lightly on his shoulder. “Right, back to the lesson. So that's the mechanical stuff, this is the...mental stuff, I guess? So the arm has a processor in it, and when it slots into this socket, it also attaches into my nervous system – there are very, very fine wires attached to some of my nerves nearby, and they relay the electrical signals between my brain and the processor in the arm. So, the really cool thing about our brains is that they are  _incredibly_ trainable, and can make new connections really well. I would think about moving my arm, and then we programmed the prosthetic arm to recognize those signals and respond. Which is why it works almost as well as the original model did.”

Steve touched the metal plate one more time, and looked up to meet Bucky's eyes with a grin. “This is all so amazing.”

“Living in the future is pretty cool,” Bucky agreed. “It'll never be exactly like it was – at least within my lifetime – but I can get pretty close.”

Steve smiled and reached for Bucky's hand, squeezing it lightly. “Did you always want a prosthetic?”

He shook his head. “The non-cyborg ones for people who lost as much as I did are pretty awful. Here, feel your own shoulder joint – yeah, just move your arm a little,” he instructed, arranging Steve's hand to press against his own shoulder. “Feel how much is going on there?”

“Yeah...” Steve smiled a little. “So you were only interested in the best.”

Bucky laughed. “I still am. But what I have now, that was  _beyond_ science fiction when I got hurt. And...I was proud, I guess? It was something that set me apart and I gloried in it, because apparently I was the weirdest teenager of all time.” Bucky blushed a little. “I didn't want to ever feel like I was hiding or covering up having a disability. I didn't want anyone to think I was ashamed.”

“I wish I'd known you when I was little and skinny,” Steve admitted.

“God, no. I was a self-righteous little prick.”

“Hey, I refuse to believe that. If nothing else, you had your heart in the right place,” Steve protested. “Also, if we're going to compare what assholes we were at fourteen, I'm going to win.”

Bucky laughed at that, and started shrugging his shirt back on, much to Steve's quiet disappointment. “Maybe we should have known each other. Anyway. Yeah, I was really all about refusing to adapt in that specific way. Also...to be honest, I was so sick of hospitals and being viewed as...as hurt, or ill. I had a lot of surgeries, for the shoulder initially and I broke my leg pretty badly and had surgeries for  _that_ a few times and, well.” Bucky shrugged uncomfortably. “I just wanted to get on with my life, not be dealing with everything.”

“I think that's more than fair,” Steve said softly. “And I'm sorry you had such a bad time of it. Getting the prosthetic – that must have been hard.”

Bucky shrugged, and reached for another cookie. “Yes,” he said flatly. “I went through a lot of Valium for a long time. But this was my choice.” He smiled shyly. “I still don't want to hide that I lost my arm, and that it still affects my life hugely. I really hope I don't. But it's pretty amazing, being able to do things that take two hands again. Even stuff like – do you have any idea how unsatisfying it is to hug someone with one arm?”

Steve laughed, and couldn't help but reach for Bucky, wrapping both arms around him. “Feels plenty fine getting the hug, y'know.”

“Ass.” Bucky gave him a gentle shove, and pointedly shoved a cookie at him. “And, oh, hey. Never be afraid to ask me questions. I won't always answer you, but you'll never hurt me by the asking. And I can absolutely guarantee that someone has asked me something tackier or more personal already.”

“Which hand do you jack off with, then?” Steve asked automatically, and then clapped a hand over Bucky's mouth. “Do _not_ answer that! I don't actually want to know! And don't fucking give me challenges like that either!”

Bucky laughed so hard, he fell off of the sofa and Steve had to help haul him back up. “Asshole.”

“Oh my God. You're the best. Steven Rogers, don't ever let anyone tell you that you aren't the best thing in the world,” Bucky wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Also, never stop looking so angelic when you ask me filthy shit.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I  _was_ in the Army, you know. I had to go through Basic just like everyone else. Why's everyone think I'm a choir boy?”

“Because they're morons fooled by a pretty face,” Bucky said, once he'd finally managed to stop laughing. “Jesus. Please let me make you dinner, after that?”

“Bucky, I'm not _that_ funny,” Steve said, and Bucky shook his head.

“No, not just because you have no boundaries. Because you're interested in _me_. And in something I'm proud of, that's part of me, and that I'd never ignore.”

“Bucky, of _course_. I'm damn well interested in all of you.” Steve held out his hand and twined his fingers with Bucky's, gentle and nice. 

“Still. Thank you.” Bucky smiled, and squeezed his hand, and they settled down again to finish the cookies, this time leaning up against each other on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table because they could, knees knocking together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note, Bucky's arm is only tangentially related to the functioning of real prosthetic technology. Pretend they live in an alternate near-future where such a thing is totally possible. (Weirdly, the thing I most obsessed over was how to deal with the skin/metal barrier. Something like PTFE was my terrible solution.)


	4. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section contains a very mild description of a car accident, scroll down to 'Steve came jogging over' if you want to avoid it.
> 
> The second section contains a description of a panic attack from the individual's POV. To avoid just that, stop reading at 'He grew quieter when Nat and Bucky caught up on a friend they had in common' and pick up again at 'Nat was smiling kindly, not one hint of pity in her eyes'.

“So _,_ since you utterly failed to mention it or let me take you out to dinner or _anything_ , I'm guessing your birthday isn't actually July fourth?”

Steve groaned, and kicked a pebble that had done nothing to him. “No, that's more propaganda stuff. My birthday is – and I am not making this up – April 15 th .”

“Awww! I missed it this year. But I can see why they changed it.”

Steve made a face at him. “I enjoy paying taxes, thank you. I like roads and social security.”

“God, you would.” Bucky made a face back at him. “You probably donate your refund--” He was cut off by a loud screech of metal and a scream, and Steve was already moving in front of him, shoving Bucky away from where the sound was coming from, before he really realized what was happening.

“It's fine, I'm fine,” Bucky said, and swallowed hard. There was a girl lying on the sidewalk, and there was blood, and he closed his eyes quickly, trying to block it out because she hadn't looked _right,_ she'd looked really pretty fucking wrong actually and –

“Bucky, go, sit on that bench. Now, please.” Steve's voice was kind, but brooked no argument. Bucky had never heard him be so firm so, well, _commanding_ , but he was desperately grateful for it as his body responded while his mind whirled. Sit. Yes, he could sit down and breathe. God knew he couldn't help any.

Not the way Steve was helping, anyway. Bucky couldn't bring himself to watch (she had been  _moving_ , and there was blood and wrong angles to her body) but he could hear Steve ordering everyone to stand back, asking if anyone was a first responder, telling someone to call for an ambulance. His voice was calm and steady and Bucky took comfort in it. Steve would know what to do, he would get help, it would be okay.

He heard the siren from the ambulance, heard Steve helping to disperse the crowd that had inevitably gathered, and then he was kneeling in front of Bucky, wrapping his warm hands around Bucky's. “Hey. You with me, honey?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Bucky took a deep breath. “I'm fine. How is --”

“I don't know,” Steve admitted. “She's hurt badly, but she was awake and breathing, and I guess that's good?” He rubbed his thumbs across Bucky's knuckles. “Baby, did you see anything?”

“Huh? Uh, no. I was watching the guys making noodles at the pho place, looking the other way.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, me too. You okay to tell the police that? They just need to ask you quickly. Oh, and the press started showing up. If anyone tries to talk to you, just direct them to the police, okay?”

Bucky nodded, and dredged up a smile. “Sorry I'm useless.”

“Bucky, you got out of the way when I asked you to. That was literally the most useful thing you could do.” Steve smiled, and squeezed Bucky's hands. “You gonna be okay?”

“ _Yes_.” Oh, fuck, he hadn't meant to snap. “Sorry. Yeah?”

Steve tilted his head to one side, and leaned in to very carefully kiss Bucky on the cheek. “I'm sending Ramirez over to you, then I'll be right back. Just gotta sort some stuff. And I'll try to get the girl's name or something, we can send her flowers.”

Bucky dredged up a smile, and found his earlier calm again. Steve didn't  _mean_ to hover. “I really will be okay. I didn't see much. And yeah. I want to send her something nice.”

“I'll get on it,” Steve promised, and stood up in a fluid motion, walking briskly back to the collection of police standing next to the car that, thank God, hadn't tried to hit-and-run. Not that that was possible in the city traffic, but still.

Bucky shivered, and concentrated on his breathing, so he could at least answer questions sensibly. He watched Steve move among everyone, body relaxed and ready, his voice rising above the crowd now and again. He wondered if this was what Steve had been like as a soldier.

Ramirez turned out to be a nice woman about his age who sat next to him, asked what he had seen, requested his contact details, and promised she was done with him and Steve both.

Steve came jogging over a few minutes later and sat on the bench next to Bucky, the open, relaxed slouch doing more for Bucky's sense of calm than anything else could. “I think we both deserve the cat caf é . My treat.”

“We definitely deserve the cat café, and it is definitely your treat,” he agreed. “Hey. You okay?”

“Me? Buck, I'm fine.” Steve smiled shyly. “Really. I've, um, seen worse.”

“I know. But still.” Bucky reached over and laced his fingers with Steve's. “Are you okay?”

Steve paused for a few seconds, then nodded. “Yes. Honestly. It...will you think I'm a horrible person if I say it felt natural?”

“I only think you're horrible when you take the last cookie.” Bucky smiled, and squeezed Steve's hand. “I don't. I think that's totally normal for you. But you also immediately reacted defensively – including _physically shielding me_ from potential harm, which, don't you ever fucking put yourself in danger that way again – so, you know. I know you have PTSD and all...”

“Oh, honey. No, I'm fine. Honest.” Steve bumped their shoulders together. “C'mon. I want to see you get worshipped by cats again.”

Bucky smiled and stood up, pulling Steve up after him. “Thanks. I'm sorry you had to worry about me.”

“To be honest? Mostly I didn't.”

“ _Really_?”

Steve dropped his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “Really. I'm sorry, it's not like I don't care about you and I will always try to protect you so don't even  _start_ with me James Barnes but, Jesus. You're so...you know how to take care of yourself, you know? You're so  _good_ at this, at managing the things that freak you out, at talking yourself down.” His face was burning red, and he was refusing to look at Bucky. “I care about you, I swear, and I'm sorry if you needed me there, but you were – she needed --”

“ _Steve_.” Bucky's voice was choked, overwhelmed. Steve trusted him, knew he could take care of himself, Steve hadn't _worried_. Had known Bucky would deal, and was still sorry, like the idiot could be in two places at once.

“I'm sorry, I think I fucked that one up – umph!” Steve had just started to look up when Bucky shut him up the best way he knew how, namely by throwing himself into Steve's arms and kissing him soundly.

“Steven Grant Rogers, _thank you_. Do you know how many people think I need to be babied? How many think I can't handle my own fears? People who watched me work at it for _years_? And without even thinking about it, you knew I just needed quiet and time, and you went and did what needed doing. Do you have _any idea_ how much that means to me?”

“You kissed me.”

Bucky flushed and drew away. “Shit. Shit, Steve, I'm sorry. I just...you... _you_ ...”

“Oh, so it's my fault now that you went and shoved your face in mine?” Steve was smiling. Actually, no, strike that, Steve was _grinning_. A shit-eating grin, even.

“It is, actually,” Bucky fired back, hands on his hips. And, he was pretty sure, an equally shit-eating grin on his face.

“Really? 'Cause this I wanna hear.”

“Couldn't stand lookin' at your dumb mug for another minute, Rogers. Figured the best way to escape was to get so close I can't focus on your stupid eyes.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Now that's a tactic I never though of. Was just gonna ask you to wear a paper bag on your head.”

“My face is a gift from God, and you know it.”

Steve moved close, got right up in Bucky's space, took full advantage of his broader shoulders and the inch or so he had on Bucky. “Oh is that what you think?”

“It's what I _know_ , actually.” Bucky couldn't stop grinning. Maybe he'd never stop, because Steve was ragging on him and he'd _kissed_ Steve and it was probably going to be okay.

“Uh huh. Well, maybe I'm tired of looking at that mouth of yours.”

“I know a way for you to cover it up.”

“Me too,” Steve breathed, and leaned in the last few inches, his hand clasping around the back of Bucky's head all warm and steady, and Bucky _might_ have made a noise into the kiss, one that let his mouth drop open, inviting, and the kiss which had started hot and sweet and impulsive turned messy, hungry, and he didn't care in the _least_ that they were there in the middle of the city in front of God and everybody, because Steve Rogers was working him over with a mouth that was far too skilled to be legal.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky breathed when they finally parted. “Jesus, Steve.”

Steve rested his forehead on Bucky's and laughed, breathless and lovely. “I guess we kiss now.”

“I guess so.” Bucky blinked, and reached out to take Steve's hands in his. “Hey. If you're still not sure, it's okay. I can always wait for you, sweetheart.”

Steve shook his head and smiled. “Nope. No take-backs.” He leaned in and kissed Bucky again, briefly. “Are  _you_ okay, though?”

“Steve, I've never been better,” he said, and meant it.

 

 

“Do you miss it? Being in battle, I mean?” They had opted for take-out coffee from a corner sandwich shop and retreating to Steve's apartment, with Steve graciously offering to play the part of the adoring cats. He thought he was doing a pretty neat job of it too, since it meant he could curl up around Bucky. If he sat sideways on the sofa, he could keep his legs over Bucky's lap and rest his head on Bucky's shoulder, and kiss whenever they wanted to.

They wanted to a lot.

Steve cuddled a little closer, Bucky's arm around his shoulders, and thought for a moment. “I don't know,” he finally admitted. “Maybe parts of it.”

“Giving orders?” Bucky teased, and nuzzled Steve's neck, just below his ear. “'Cause you could try giving me orders.”

Steve pulled away to look Bucky in the face, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“As the grave.” Bucky leaned over and kissed the tip of Steve's nose. 

“Just out of curiosity, would you follow any orders I gave you?”

“What? Oh, hell no, of course not. It'd be hilarious.”

Steve groaned, and shoved at Bucky's shoulder, rolling his eyes when he laughed harder. “I get a Medal of Honor and my own boyfriend probably wouldn't go pick up a pizza if I asked him to.”

Bucky shook his head, still laughing, and pulled Steve in for a tender kiss. “I  _might_ ,” he corrected. “If you asked nice.”

Steve sighed, and rested his head on Bucky's shoulder with a little 'thunk'. “No respect for the armed forces these days.”

“Hey!” Bucky frowned. “I know you're joking, but that's a bit close to the bone.”

“Shit, sorry.” Steve smiled wryly. “You and your DoD contracts.”

“ _No_ , dumbass. Me and the veterans I've worked with and seen what they lost. Me and you. Me and being proud of all the good you did. All the good you're still going to do,” Bucky added, “but we're talking about you-the-soldier right now. And I will never, ever not be proud of you, or have less than total respect for what you did, got it?”

“Got it,” Steve said softly, and tried to nestle closer, closing his eyes when he felt Bucky pressing soft kisses to his face. “Thank you.” He smiled a little. “You think I can still do good?”

“I damn well know it.” Bucky hugged Steve tightly, just for a moment. “I don't think you could do anything else, Stevie.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “You officially have more faith in me than I do.”

“Well, you're an idiot.” Bucky said. 

“Wait. You're _proud_ of me?”

“This is news to you?” Bucky frowned, reaching up to stroke Steve's cheek. “I'm so proud of you, honey.”

“It's just...we don't talk about my time as Cap, really, I didn't think you...noticed?”

Bucky gave him an odd look. “What are you talking about? I live in the world, I absolutely noticed when a skinny boy volunteered to undergo unbelievable pain so he could go into a war zone. Remember, I showed up to yell at you?” He softened the words with smile. “I don't talk about Cap much because he's a symbol, just a title, a part of you I respect. But it's Steve Rogers I  _care_ about, not the man on the news. And I'm proud of your past  _and_ your present, for the record.”

Steve blinked, and kissed Bucky, hard. “How are you real?” he murmured against Bucky's mouth. “Seriously.”

“Just lucky. Sap.” Bucky kissed him, coffee-flavored, and that was enough talking for a little while.

 

***

 

**Bucky Barnes [13:05:45]** Hey sweetie! I'm meeting a friend of mine after work today, wanna join us? I want to start showing you off.

**Steve R [13:07:15]** Okay, if you're sure they won't mind?

**Bucky Barnes [13:08:45]** Nat said, and I quote 'I need to meet him and see if he's the specimen of perfection you claim'

**Steve R [13:09:19]** Oh, way to set me up to disappoint the lady, Barnes.

**Bucky Barnes [13:10:30]** Hey, shut up, you won't disappoint her. At all. Please please please please please? Happy's, at 6?

**Bucky Barnes [13:10:45]** You don't have to stay long.

**Bucky Barnes [13:11:03]** Or at all, if you're having a rough day, love. Nat can meet you another time.

**Steve R [13:11:43]** No, it's okay, it's not that bad a day. It'll be good for me to get out and see people anyway. 

**Bucky Barnes [13:12:06]** Hey, whatever is best for you. Nat's super-chill, and I'll have hugs and kisses and good beer waiting for you.

**Steve R [13:12:15]** Well, with that temptation...

**Bucky Barnes [13:12:25]** What's a boyfriend for but that?

**Steve R [13:12:57]** My boyfriend. You should see the dumb look on my face.

**Bucky Barnes [13:13:33]** I could probably look in a mirror and see it anyway, baby. You make me happy, you know that?

**Steve R [13:13:55]** I got that along the way, yeah. Why did we wait so long??

**Bucky Barnes [13:14:14]** Because we needed to. Both of us. I threw myself at you at precisely the right moment.

**Steve R [13:14:20]** Well, of course.

**Steve R [13:14:25]** OH! I almost forgot.

**Steve R [13:14:49]** The girl that day – Kestrel. She got the flowers, and she's doing fine. A lot of healing to do, but she'll be just fine.

**Bucky Barnes [13:14:55]** Thank God.

**Bucky Barnes [13:16:00]** Really.

**Bucky Barnes [13:16:08]** Thanks for letting me know :)

**Steve R [13:16:23]** Of course. Hey, I gotta run, therapy and all, but I'll see you after work.

**Bucky Barnes [13:16:45]** See you! xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**Steve R [13:16:59]** dork :)

 

Steve walked into Happy's a few minutes past six, relieved to find it quiet, especially for a post-work hour. Bucky and a redheaded woman were sitting at one of the tables against the wall, the free chair situated so that Steve could see the entire interior of the bar and two of the four exits.

He swallowed hard, and wondered if he could put Bucky up for sainthood, despite the whole lapsed-Catholic thing.

“Stevie!” Bucky jumped up and laughed, waving him over. He pulled Steve into a hug as soon as he was close enough, and kissed him sweetly. “You okay?” he murmured into his ear, and Steve nodded, hugging Bucky tight for a moment. He was pretty sure he'd never been doted on like this before. It was addictive.

“C'mon, I already got you a beer,” Bucky said, inviting him to sit down. “This is Nat. Nat, Steve Rogers.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said politely, shook his hand, and gave him a once-over that left Steve feeling not only naked, but absolutely certain that Nat knew every single one of his secrets now. Threat level: low to him, but high to anyone else.

Steve bit his lip and sat down, glad Bucky was just to one side of him. If he shifted his chair a little bit closer, no one said anything.

“So, Bucky said you two went to the Demuth show?” 

Steve nodded, and was pleased and surprised to learn that she'd been to the same exhibition in another city, and they chatted a little while about it, comparing the differences in how the show was hung. He relaxed with the beer and Nat's friendliness (she was masking about 90% of her actual personality, he estimated, but who was he to look askance at someone clearly protecting themselves?), and Bucky's arm brushing against his. He hadn't quite realized how tactile his boyfriend was with  _everyone_ , the way he touched the back of Nat's hand, the way he hid behind Steve when she faux-menaced him for something he said, and then back to touching her shoulder when he went up to buy the next round.

Steve felt the heavy tension of the day relax in this warm little corner, only a little irritated when a particularly loud group settled near them. They were celebrating...something...and he tried to tune them out as best he could, focusing more and more on Nat's pretty, expressive face, and on the way Bucky leaned into him, just a little bit.

He grew quieter when Nat and Bucky caught up on a friend they had in common, a Hank McCoy who was apparently going to be in town soon. It was easy to drift, taking in the conversation at their table, the shrieked joy at the next, the sidewalk he could see through the huge windows. Three of four exits still clear. Three bartenders working, though one kept disappearing into the back. Second time that couple had walked their dog past the front of the bar – that bored or just looking for a dog-friendly place? Relaxed stance on both of them, no threat.

Heart rate up – shit shit shit. Steve breathed carefully, because he was not going to have a panic attack the first time Bucky took him out to meet his friend. His cultured, charming, very dear friend. Breathe, like Sam taught him. Breathe.

“You okay love?” Bucky asked softly, turning to him but keeping a small distance. Right, that was respect too – Steve had asked Bucky to check before he touched anytime he was going into panic mode. Didn't want to, _couldn't_ chance hurting him, never ever ever even though he was made for hurting, really, that had been the point. Turn him into a weapon.

Breathe.

Okay. He would be okay and he tried to tell Bucky that when  _of course_ some asshole's car backfired or a motorbike or  _something_ made a loud noise and he was not going to panic, not when the world suddenly became so finely-drawn, every color bright and perfect, every detail, he could see  _everything_ and safe safe he had to keep Bucky and Nat safe and remember to breathe and be a weapon but only pointed at the bad guys –

“Steve.” Nat's voice, cool and calm, cutting through everything. “Put your hand on Bucky's back.”

He did, because he was a soldier and he followed orders.

“Count his breaths for me. Just that. Bucky, breathe a little slower, please. Steve, count for me. You're safe, your only job is to stay in contact with Bucky and count.”

“Yes ma'am,” Steve managed, and counted the slow in-out, his palm spread on Bucky's back. He could feel the muscles there, tense, oh baby no, don't be afraid for me. Breathe. One, two, three, four. He could do this, match his breath to Bucky's, the way they did when they kissed for so long.

“I'll be right back,” Nat said, her voice still cool and calm.

Thirty-one, thirty-two, feel Bucky relax, the lovely line of his back. He had to get massages regularly, muscles so abused from the heavy arm, and he was so  _strong_ . Thirty-five. Thirty-six.

“Steve? I've got a glass of water. Drink, or do I need to throw it in your face?”

“ _What_?” Bucky's voice was sharp, his back tensing.

“Hush, I'll explain later. Steve, are you with me? Give me a count.”

“Forty-two. And drink.” He reached for the glass and the water was cool and nice and Bucky's back relaxed under his hand, breath still even and slow, easy-peasy to match. Oh, Sam was gonna love this one.

He blinked, and the world calmed. Safe. He was safe, Bucky was safe. He wasn't a weapon anymore.

Nat was smiling kindly, not one hint of pity in her eyes. “Okay?”

Steve managed a smile. “Enough. I should get home.”

Nat nodded and reached for her bag, clearly ready to go with them. “Bucky and I will walk you, okay?”

Knowing an order when he saw one, Steve nodded. He should insist they stay, he would be  _fine_ getting himself home, but Bucky was standing too and he didn't have it in him.

It was a short walk home, his hand still on Bucky's back as Nat led them through the crowded evening streets following Bucky's directions, and Steve let them into his apartment.

“Lie down?” She asked gently, and he nodded. “Good. Bucky, stay with him.” She grinned at Steve. “I know he's the most spoiled boy in all of New York City, but if you give him a chance, he'll glory at doting on you.”

“Hey! I am not spoiled!”

“Yes, you are,” Steve and Natasha chorused, and Steve laughed, safe now, home, and possibly he hadn't wrecked anything.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Please, can we try again another day?”

“I'd be very disappointed if we didn't,” she assured him. “I had a lovely evening, Steve. I'll see you soon,” she promised before hugging Bucky goodbye and letting herself out.

“Bed or sofa?” Bucky asked. “And can I get you anything?”

“Sofa. And.” Steve rubbed his eyes, headache starting. “There's a blister pack on my nightstand. Can you get that?”

“Of course. Go lie down, love.” Bucky kissed his cheek and headed down the long hallway to Steve's bedroom, and Steve stretched out on the sofa, deciding to at least make an attempt at not feeling guilty.

“Here, baby.” Bucky slipped the silvery pack into Steve's hand and he sat up to swallow the painkillers dry. Hopefully his stupid metabolism would kick it in fast.

He lay back into Bucky's lap, smiling up at him and sighing happily when cool metal fingers brushed across his brow. “Oooh, that feels good.”

“Hang on – is that comfortable?” He was resting his hand on Steve's forehead, heavy and cool. 

“Mmm _hmm_.” 

He watched Bucky pinch his own elbow, hard, and blinked when vibrations he hadn't even been aware of stopped. “What...?”

“Turned my arm off from the elbow down. The metal'll stay cool longer that way.”

“Bucky!”

“Hush. I don't want to get up and find an icepack or anything.” Bucky smiled down at him, touched his lips. “Don't give me that look.”

“I'll give you any look I want,” Steve sulked.

“As you say.” Bucky's voice was warm, teasing, and Steve was so inexpressibly grateful, for everything. The teasing, the cool weight on his brow, just _Bucky_.

“If I apologize for screwing up your evening, will you hit me?”

“I will never hit you, Steve.” Bucky's voice was deadly serious, such a change from a second ago that Steve looked up at him to see he'd gone pale. “Never. Sorry. Long story. Don't like to joke about...things like that.”

“Oh, honey,” Steve murmured, and reached up to touch Bucky's cheek.

“Shush. And don't apologize, either. You didn't ruin anything.” Bucky turned his head to kiss Steve's fingertips. “As she made clear, Nat understands. I understand. We'll go out another time.”

“Thanks,” Steve said softly, and sighed, closing his eyes. “Mmmm. Can you stay a little while? This feels good.”

“I can stay as long as you want me to. This _does_ feel good, you in my lap where I can pet you and love on you as much as I want,” Bucky said, his free hand moving to rub Steve's shoulder, down his arm, wrap around his hand and squeeze. “Can I spoil you a little tonight?”

“Like I'd say no to that.” Steve smiled and cuddled closer. “I know you know this, but just be gentle with me? And if you move around, try to make some noise so I don't get startled?”

“I promise,” Bucky said, and used his right hand to turn the left over, freshly cooled metal against Steve's brow. “Oh, hey. Um, why did Nat want to throw water in your face?”

“Oh! Yeah. She was trying to help, honest.” Steve opened his eyes and smiled up at Bucky. “Divers reflex. When humans get water suddenly in their face, our heart and breathing rates automatically slow down. Please don't ever do that to me, by the way,” he added. “It's, uh, classfied, but trust me that I don't respond well to suddenly getting water in my face.”

Bucky made a face. “Don't worry. It sounds kind of awful, to be honest.” He started to rub circles on Steve's chest, palm flat and warm. “Was...everything else she did okay? Fuck, I should know this, shouldn't I?”

Steve shrugged. “I wish I could say you'll never see me like that again, but probably not. And yeah. If I start to panic on you, give me something to focus on – counting your breaths was really good, actually. And remind me where I am. And...never tell me I'm okay, because I'm pretty clearly  _not_ , but remind me I'm safe? And that you're safe too?”

“Got it,” Bucky said, pausing a moment to touch his thumb to Steve's lips. “Hey you.”

“Hey you,” Steve echoed, and smiled up at him, losing himself in the warmth of being close to Bucky, of being cared for. “Thank you. For being here.”

“Always, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. “Always, always.”

 

 

Bucky didn't much want to leave and, if he was being honest, Steve didn't want him to leave either. Which was why he was currently looking adorable in Steve's too-big t-shirt and cotton pajama pants, cuddled up in Steve's bed.

“You really are the most spoiled boy in New York City, aren't you?”

Bucky laughed, and reached out his arms. “Is it my fault if everyone just wants to give me my due? Kiss, please.”

Steve leaned over so that his lips just barely touched Bucky's forehead, just for a split second, before he pulled away and rolled over, tucking himself under the blankets.

“Steve! Were you always a little shit, or did the serum enhance that, too?”

“Always,” Steve said, rather proudly. “You should see my baby home movies.”

Bucky froze, then sat up, rolling Steve over, a look of pure glee in his eyes. “Those  _exist_ ?”

“Uh. No. Nope. Just making them up. In no way do they exist. Never have, never will.”

“Teeny-tiny Steve Rogers being an asshole? All my Christmases have come at once!” Bucky declared dramatically, flopping back on the mattress.

“Oh, bite me. I'll get them out of storage for you,” Steve grumbled, still cocooned in the light summer quilt.

“Aw, you're the best boyfriend.” Bucky curled around his back, pulling Steve into his arms. “Hey. This okay?”

“Perfect,” Steve sighed, relaxing into him. Bucky was nice and comforting and just, God, he missed being held. 

“Tell me if my arm gets uncomfortable for you,” Bucky said, voice all gentleness now. “It'll warm up soon.”

“It's fine. You're fine. Better than.” Steve wriggled a little closer, shifting so he could tuck his head under Bucky's chin. 

“Good. I've got you all night, sweetheart, and as late tomorrow as you want,” Bucky murmured, pressing a kiss behind Steve's ear. “Keep you safe and happy, and I'll run out and get us really good pastries tomorrow, feed you breakfast in bed. Give you the sweetest hours I can.”

Steve melted into that rough voice, caring for him so completely. He didn't need it, had never needed care really, not since the serum. But oh, he didn't care how selfish it was, to have Bucky cherish him so obviously was perfection. He'd have to call Sam tomorrow, there was no promise that it would be the good day Bucky deserved, but he'd take the gentle whispers on a warm night, Bucky teasing him and holding him so tenderly, and wrap them around him, armor against the bad times.

They drifted off like that, bodies twined together, and slept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEEDLESS TO SAY do not use the glass of water in the face trick on someone having a panic attack unless, like, they've specifically requested it. 
> 
> (That said, the diver's reflex is a Thing, and I find it actually does calm me down if I'm not too panicky yet.)
> 
> PS, if you got my combined tip o' the nib to Something*Positive and Queen of Wands, you are my favorite. Yes, you.


	5. September

Steve made a face when the closing credits started up. “Ehhh. It was okay?”

“It's the first episode, of course it kinda sucked! But, Steve, you gotta admit the character designs are amazing. And a ship, a _living_ ship!” Bucky flopped back on the sofa, arms spread wide. “How cool is that?” _Farscape_ was his favorite show of all time, and if he had his way, it was gonna be Steve's too.

“Um, it's neat? Sorry, sorry! I promise, I'll watch a few more episodes with you,” Steve said when Bucky glared at him.

“Also, Ben Browder.”

“Huh?”

“John Crichton? The human guy? So hot.” Bucky gave a little wriggle. “ _So_ hot. And Claudia Black is, like, the most beautiful woman ever.”

“...sure?” Steve reached over to poke Bucky's stomach. “You just like the eye-candy, admit it.”

“Nah. If I just wanted eye-candy, that's what I got you for.” He made a kissy-face, and held his arms out. “Cuddle, please?”

“I think I just got complimented?” Steve twisted and moved so he could lie atop Bucky, most of his weight on still on his elbows.

“Yes, you did. Hey, you're not gonna break me,” Bucky chided, pulling Steve down to rest fully on him. “Mmm. Better.”

“I know,” Steve said. “Just didn't want you to feel like I was holding you down or anything like that.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, his voice breaking. He reached for Steve, and a deep kiss. 

“Gotta take care of my fella,” Steve murmured into his mouth.

“Know the feeling.” Bucky shifted so he could lift his knees, Steve lying between his legs now. “Stay the night darling? Please?”

“Stay the night or _stay_ the night?” Steve asked, pressing a kiss to Bucky's jaw. “I'm happy with either, by the way.”

“God, are you twelve?” Bucky laughed, taking the sting away, and chased Steve's mouth down. “I would very much like you to _stay_ the night, please.”

“Really?” Steve asked, voice suddenly shy. 

“Really. I care about you and I want to make you happy and you're gorgeous.” Bucky shifted a little, carefully not rolling his hips against Steve. Not just yet, anyway. “What do you want, Stevie?”

“You, of course.” An answer as easy as breathing, and rewarded with kisses pressed to his face, then to his throat which made him moan, setting off sparks behind Bucky's eyes. He was wanted, _wanted_ , Steve wanted him. It wasn't a surprise, but it _was_ , and it was delicious to think about.

“Can I get more details?” Bucky trailed his hand down, just resting it on the curve of Steve's ass. They had certainly taken great joy in groping each other before, but this time it was a precursor; something to be navigated. Steve was to be treated gently.

“Um.” Another kiss to settle them both. “I like blowjobs, giving _and_ receiving. Kissing is good, touching is better. I like...feedback? I guess? I want to know what you like best while I'm doing it.” He smiled, and kissed Bucky's jaw. “Actual penetrative sex is okay, but not my favorite, to be honest. I top and bottom, no preference. You?”

“Top or bottom too, though I guess I like topping a little more.” Soft kisses pressed to Steve's jaw, oh, he tasted so good, just a little bit of roughness where he would need to shave the next morning. “Solely in the sexual sense, I don't do well with D/s games.” Another tender kiss, melting into Steve's arms, so gentle. “I like...body worship. Let me massage you, kiss you all over, let me love your body. C'n make it really good for you.”

“I have no doubt,” Steve whispered, and Bucky had the singular pleasure of watching his pupils go very wide. “Oh, God.”

“Can do that all night,” Bucky admitted softly. “I don't mind penetrative sex, but there's a lot of other stuff to do, you know?” And sometimes he didn't like it, couldn't handle it, and he needed to sit down and really _talk_ to Steve soon. But for right now, tonight, this would serve.

Steve nodded, and smiled. “I would be entirely okay with just touching you for hours, you know?”

Bucky shivered and sighed when he felt Steve start stroking his arm – his  _left_ arm even, like it wasn't any different, because he knew Bucky would feel it and take comfort from it. “Oh, yes. Oh, God yes.”

“How are you _real_?” Steve asked, and his voice cracked, and Bucky's heart broke a little.

“I've got you, baby,” he murmured, holding Steve close. “There now. Why wouldn't I want those gorgeous hands all over me?” Soft little kisses laid in his hair, a little crunchy from the gel he used and Stevie, _his_ Stevie, so gentle for such a big man. “I've got you.”

“'m fine?” Steve laughed, and hid his face in Bucky's neck for a moment. “Just can't believe you exist. Never had a lover who just...understood.”

“Well, then you need a better class of lover.” And oh, God, oh holy God, please let Steve be ace or gray-ace or just not that interested in fucking, let this not be for the same reasons Bucky didn't like anyone holding him down. Please, please. 

Bucky stroked Steve's back, let them have their silence for a little bit. “Hey. I know my sofa's comfy, but I've got a big bed.”

Steve giggled a little, and pushed himself up. “Hint taken.”

Bucky kissed the tip of his nose. “Go and make yourself at home. I'll get us some water and be there in a few minutes.”

And if he could take a few deep breaths himself, it wouldn't hurt anyone. He hadn't slept with anyone since Brock, which was stupid, because that was  _years_ ago, but still. Steve was pretty much the first person he had even begun to trust since then.

A few deep breaths and half a glass of ice water later, he refilled the glass and walked through his apartment, turning off lights as he went. Bucky let himself into his bedroom quietly, and his heart turned over at the way Steve sat at the end of his bed, awkward and shy. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey yourself,” Steve said, and blushed. “Do you want me to, um, lie down?”

“If you want to. Here, c'mon and join me,” Bucky said, putting the water down and stretching out on one side of the bed, holding his arms out.

Steve crawled up the bed and into his arms, the two of them lying there facing one another. “Much better,” he decided, and Bucky agreed with a little kiss.

“I like having you here,” he said, reaching up to stroke his fingertips down the side of Steve's face. “Not just in my bed. In my home, in my arms. In my life.”

“Oh my God, you're one of those people who's all sarcastic and cocksure and you turn into a marshmallow in bed, aren't you?”

“Guilty. 'Cept not guilty about it.” Bucky smiled and kissed Steve lightly. “I know some of what you like doing, but what _shouldn't_ I do, darling?”

Steve quieted, tucking himself close and thinking for a little bit. “I...don't know?” he finally admitted. “I've had sex before and all, and nothing's really turned me off. Uh. I know I don't like dirty talk – like insults? Don't call me a slut, or whatever.”

“Not my thing either,” Bucky assured him. 

“Other than that...I don't know,” he admitted, frown line appearing between his eyebrows. “I'm sorry.”

“Hey, nothing to be sorry for,” Bucky said, slipping his hand under Steve's t-shirt to rub his back. “We'll find out together. You just gotta promise me that if I do anything you don't like, you tell me right away so I can stop, okay?”

“Okay. What about you?”

Bucky shrugged. “You know most of it. Don't hold me down, or restrain me. Don't...don't hit me, or throw things at me, even if you're gentle and just kidding around. And, um.” He bit his lip. “I don't mind keeping my shirt on, if you don't want to see my arm.”

“Baby, no,” Steve said softly. “I want to see all of you. You're gorgeous, you know? Every inch of you, top of your head,” he pushed himself up to kiss the top of Bucky's head, “to the tips of your toes,” he finished, sitting up and turning so he could lay a gentle kiss on the instep of Bucky's foot, bare in the summer heat.

Bucky giggled, sitting up and watching Steve kiss his foot, press soft lips to the bony part of his ankle, start working his way up Bucky's legs. He was methodical, gentle, and soon had Bucky stretched out, stripped down to his skivvies and practically boneless with happiness.

Steve's mouth and hands roamed Bucky's body until he was almost overstimulated, lost in the feeling of being touched and caressed, cherished. Steve carefully kissed each fingertip of his left hand and Bucky blinked away tears, caressing his hair with his free hand, giggling when Steve moved to kiss his ribs, nuzzle into his side, and finally pinch his belly lightly.

“You're amazing,” he murmured, utterly relaxed. “My Stevie knows just what I like.”

“Being petted and told how gorgeous you are? Yup, guessed that early on,” Steve teased, shifting so he could straddle Bucky's legs, sitting back on his thighs. He tangled their fingers together and smiled down at Bucky. “You're really fine with doing this all night?”

“Really,” Bucky said. “If we get each other off, great. But the important part is you and me, and touching, playing around, just having fun, y'know?”

“Believe me, I know,” Steve said fervently, and laughed when Bucky tried to flip them. “Oh my God, no. I'm gonna teach you to do that properly, you mook.”

“Just because some of us did everything in our power to get out of gym class due to the fact we were chubby nerds,” Bucky grumbled.

“Pictures later, please. _That_ I wanna see.”

“Steve, I looked like a potato.”

“An _adorable_ potato, I bet,” Steve said smugly. “Now, I'm serious – with those long legs of yours, this'll be easy.” And he walked Bucky through the flip, teaching him how to throw his hips, how to make sure they both landed safely, and they broke down in giggles, trying to distract each other with kisses, and then rolling each other over – or not, as was often the case with Bucky – as soon as they thought the other was off-guard.

Bucky was laughing hard, harder than he ever had in bed, when he finally crawled on top of Steve and kissed him for all he was worth.  “ Can I take your boxers off?” he asked softly. At Steve's nod, he kissed him again and slowly slid the elastic band down strong thighs, following it with his mouth, pressing kisses to Steve's legs until he was free. “My God. You really are perfect.”

“Eh, I'm all right.” Steve grinned and held out his hands, making grabby motions. “Can I? Please?”

“If you want,” Bucky said, and laughed at Steve's enthusiastic nod. He went up on his knees and leaned into the kiss while Steve slid the tight back undershorts down, not incidentally caressing Bucky's ass at the same time. “Nice.”

“Really nice,” Steve said softly, sitting back to look his fill. “My beautiful guy.”

“ _Stevie_.” Bucky was smiling though, warmed by Steve's obvious appreciation. He reached out and stroked Steve's hip, encouraged him a little closer. “I'm really glad you're staying.”

“ _I'm_ pretty glad you're the guy I fell on my face in front of,” Steve replied.

“Well, when you put it that way...” Bucky pulled them down gently, hand still stroking Steve's back. He stifled a yawn – it was so late that it was early, but Steve was warm in his arms, and he ached to touch, caress, kiss every inch of pale skin laid out before him. His cock was...not uninterested, but this was safe and good and absolutely fucking hot in its own way. Next time, he thought. Maybe.

“Sleepy, baby?” Steve asked when he utterly failed at hiding another yawn. 

“Mph. No. Don't wanna sleep,” Bucky protested, even as Steve laid them down and pulled the sheets up. “Noooo, having too much fun.”

“Me too, but you're half asleep already.” Steve stroked the soft hair on the back of Bucky's head, always guaranteed to calm him. “I'll be right here when we wake up, love.”

“Better be,” Bucky mumbled. “I made cinnamon rolls for breakfast. 'n there's iced coffee in the fridge.”

“Why do I think I'll be making you breakfast in bed?”

“Because you're the best boyfriend I've ever had,” Bucky said, and bit his lip when he realized he wasn't kidding.

“Sleep, honey. See you in the morning,” Steve murmured, rubbing his hand down Bucky's back. He must have felt the way Bucky tensed with the old memories and oh, no, Stevie, it's not your fault.

He'd have to tell him soon. Explain everything, because he couldn't ignore it and stay sane, and Steve deserved to know. Soon, Bucky resolved, and fell asleep with Steve's fingers still gently combing through his hair.

 

***

 

Steve took a break from staring at the sunset to distract himself, because it was getting a little sad, really.

“Bucky, how did you know you wanted to be an engineer?”

“Honey, I love you, but we've gotta work on your pillow talk.”

“Shut up, I'm being serious,” Steve said, poking Bucky hard in the side.

“So am I!” Bucky rolled over and flopped unceremoniously on top of Steve. “What's on your mind, lover?”

Steve applied the palm of his hand to Bucky's face and gently shoved. “Pet names designed to make me melt won't work, you know.”

“Yeah they will.” Bucky wriggled until he was comfortable on his stomach next to Steve and rested his head on his crossed arms. “And to answer your question...I think always? I've always loved looking at how things work, especially joints. And I was good in physics and math at school.” He moved, just a bit, so his cheek was resting on cool metal plates. 

“Did losing your arm affect you any?” Steve asked.

“Yes, but not in the way you think. I never meant to go into prosthetics, if you can believe it.” Bucky smile was soft, distant and remembering. “I was in a pretty bad way for a few months, so I spent a _lot_ of time in bed binge-watching Robot Wars and Mythbusters and stuff like that. And a lot of nature programs, actually. Compared to the rest of the animal kingdom, humans are _really boring_ at moving ourselves around. Way more interesting to look at how insects move their limbs, deal with terrain, all of that.”

Steve smiled, and kissed Bucky softly. “You're so cool.”

“Thus speaks a man who clearly did not know me at fourteen.”

Steve hesitated. “ Bucky? Can I ask you something that might be a little awful?”

“Hell yes I would take my real arm back if I had a choice,” Bucky said.

“How did you know?” Steve asked, blinking a little in surprise.

“I get asked that...not often, but regularly, if that makes sense,” Bucky said, and rolled onto his side. “C'mere, I wanna hold you.”

“I'm sorry, it's a horrible question--”

“Shhh,” Bucky soothed. “I mean, you're right, but _you're_ not horrible for wanting to know.” He rubbed Steve's back lightly. “And it's a fair question – I've got a pretty fancy prosthetic. I could give you a good argument that it's the best that currently exists in the world, at least that I know of. And it's actually a better deal than a flesh-and-blood arm in a way; I don't get hurt by extreme heat or cold, I could make it _incredibly_ strong if I wanted to, it's almost impervious to any damage short of something on the order of a grenade. Augmented humanity, and I like thinking of myself that way.”

“But?” Steve asked.

“Steve, I almost _died_. More than once, actually.” Bucky shivered, and touched his forehead to Steve's. “It was so weird, the way the crash happened. Mom and Becca walked away with some cuts and bruises and I almost bled out right there. I woke up at one point and I was surprised I was still alive.”

Steve couldn't stop a broken, aching sound, and he wrapped his arms around Bucky to feel the weight of him, soft breath against his face. His sweet man, his light, his  _Bucky_ .

“Shhh, I'm sorry. I'm making us both sad.” He took a deep breath, and Steve felt him relax. “I'm not planning on going anywhere for a long, long time.”

“Damn right.”

“So, obviously, that fucking sucked,” Bucky said, going back to his story. “And the world is really not constructed for people with only one opposable thumb, in case you were wondering. Or one hand. We are bilaterally symmetrical and basically everything works best that way.”

Steve made a face. “Yeah, we're sort of assholes that way, as a species.”

“Heh.” Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve's forehead. “I missed a year of school. I was in pain...a lot. I learned to adapt, but it wasn't the same.” He sighed softly. “And not everyone was as okay with how I looked as you are. I was angry and young and refused to think of myself as disabled or unattractive, and that helped a lot, but it still hasn't been a picnic. And it still isn't. I _hurt,_ Steve, every day. Not badly, and massages and working out help a lot, but I'd happily give up all that pain. And I don't actually have that great fine motor control in my left hand. And for fuck's sake,” he said, voice growing thick, “I would give anything to be able to _feel_ you with both hands, wrap both arms around you and feel it right, touch you like I _want_ to, not having that extra layer of concentration.”

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve stroked his hair, pressed soft kisses to his face, soothing, and blinked back tears of his own. “I had no idea.”

Bucky laughed, a little broken, and swiped a hand over his eyes. “Sorry. I usually don't think about it, just get on with life, you know? And I know I'm lucky, and I'm pretty happy, I swear. Just, sometimes I wish...”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Oh, honey. I don't know what to say.”

“Would you take the serum again?” Bucky asked softly.

“Yes,” Steve said, without hesitation. “Enhanced ability is frankly great most of the time. I would have settled for not-disabled. Because that's very much what I was. I would _never_ blame anyone who was offered the chance and didn't take it,” he rushed to add, “and I _really_ believe that we could do a lot more as a society to adapt and account for disability, but I don't regret being able to hear, or see clearly. I don't miss the back problems and the heart problems and everything.” He smiled crookedly. “I have mixed feelings about all the stuff that came immediately after the serum, obviously. But, oh, Bucky, I can't even...the first time I ran, and it didn't _hurt_ was amazing.”

“Then I'm happy for you,” Bucky said, stroking Steve's face. “You feel things stronger than ordinary humans, right?”

Steve nodded. “I'm not sure anybody is ordinary, but yeah. Means depression sucks that much more, but when I'm happy, when I'm with someone I care about – it's that much more amazing.” 

“Oh, baby.” Bucky pulled him into a tight hug. 

“Doesn't hurt being tall and well-muscled either,” Steve teased, nuzzling Bucky's throat. “Really helps out when I'm trying to get the guys.”

Bucky laughed and pinched Steve's side. “Hey, for the record? I'd have grabbed you up if you were still short and skinny and ten pounds of spitfire in a five-pound bag.”

“Of course you would've,” Steve murmured, kissing his way down Bucky's throat. “Because you're perfect.”

“Uh huh, and don't you forget it,” Bucky teased, stretching out happily. “God, all you asked me was a simple question and look how we wind up.”

“Mmm, good lesson that. Ask Bucky a simple question and he'll give you a reason to adore him even more. And then kisses. Noted.”

“Oh my God, you're impossible,” Bucky groaned, but slipped his hand under Steve's shirt to caress his stomach anyway. “Why'd you want to know, anyway?”

“I'm supposed to come up with ideas for what I want to do with my life.” Steve mumbled into Bucky's throat. “Dunno how to even start thinking about it.”

“What did you want to do when you were a kid?”

“Fight. Hey, don't laugh at me!” Steve blew a raspberry into Bucky's throat. 

“In general, or specifically in the armed forces?” Bucky asked, hand roaming so he could circle a fingertip around Steve's nipple.

“Ooo, nice. And I liked to fight in general, though I _talked_ a lot about the Army.” Steve grinned, and went for Bucky's ear, kissing and licking just behind it, very pleased at the moan he earned.

“Unh. Okay. Hobbies?”

“I used to draw. God, Bucky, you're too good at this. Shirt off? Please?”

“Only if you do too,” Bucky purred, and kissed his way down Steve's chest once it was bared. “So, art. What do you want to _do_ , love?”

“I don't _know!_ ” Steve pulled away, hands coming up to cover his face, the mood broken. “Bucky, I want to protect people. I want punish the bullies and show them that they can't pick on people and get away with it. I want to make the world a better place.”

“So fucking do that already,” Bucky said calmly, sitting up and crossing his legs. “Start an NGO. Make sandwiches for the homeless, fuck, I'll help you hand them out. Get involved in an anti-bullying campaign and get 'em young. Get a job with the VA and put the fear of God into the bureaucrats. _Don't_ get a job with the VA and do the whole fear of God thing freelance. Go to a Dr. Sketchy's on Friday nights and draw people for fun, or do it for money.” He pulled Steve's hands away. “You're very smart, Steve. You could come up with all this on your own. Why _haven't_ you?”

Steve smiled, and it was horrible, because it was the Captain America smile.

“No,” Bucky said softly and touched his mouth. “I'm not your adoring public. I'm your Bucky. You're worth more than the shield and the title, and Steve Rogers can do plenty of good in this world. You can't save everyone, love, but you can save someone.”

“It's not that easy,” Steve managed.

“Well, of course not. But you can do it. Start small. Ask me for help, ask Sam for help, ask everyone for help.” He smiled and reached for Steve's hand. “Experiment. Maybe you're meant to do huge paintings and make beauty in the world, maybe you're meant to be an advocate, hell, maybe you're secretly the best bartender in all of Brooklyn. Don't be afraid, darling. Or be afraid, but press on anyway. We've all got your back, me and everyone who knows you.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “I'm...okay. Small. I can start small.” And not alone, never alone again. He had forgotten that, somehow. He had people other than the Howlies, now. He closed his eyes, and felt Bucky shift, lie down close to him but not quite touching. “I'm sorry.”

“Shhh. You just needed a little push from someone you weren't expecting.” Bucky kissed his forehead. 

 

***

 

“So what does make you happy?”

“I...don't know.” Steve shrugged and didn't care that he was purposely avoiding meeting Sam's eyes. 

“Well, what made you happy when you were a soldier?” Sam asked.

“Protecting people. Knowing I was helping. That I was being useful,” Steve said, almost without thinking. “I thought I was going in to fight bullies, you know? Teach them a lesson.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Uh huh. Look, is there something concrete you can do with that?”

Steve shrugged again, and they turned the corner in the strangely cavernous building. “I'm going to write more lists, aren't I?”

“At last, he gets it!” Sam cheered. “You need a deadline?”

“Nah. I think I'll find time in my busy schedule,” Steve said, grinning.

They had walked to the front of the building, where open doorways led to large rooms on either side of the foyer. Normally, Steve took his leave from Sam here, promising to call if he needed to, and checking that they'd both be around for their weekly run together. Normally, he didn't hear Bucky's voice floating out of the room on the right.

“Oh, man, that's great – you've really snapped your gait right back to what we need, you know?”

“Bucky?”

“Who the _hell_ is Bucky?” asked Sam, warm voice belying the words. “I've never seen you smile so fast.”

Bucky had heard his name, though, and he looked over and grinned. “Steve! Hey! Okay with a little company?” he asked someone standing near him, and waved both Sam and Steve in at the affirmative. As soon as he was properly in the room he could see a small table with a laptop and iPad on it, and a young man standing by Bucky. Shorter and more slender, one of his legs was metal from the knee down, almost but not quite the same design as Bucky's arm.

“How's it going?” Bucky asked, once they were close enough. “Oh, hey, I'm Bucky Barnes,” he said to Sam. “Did you need this room?”

“Not at all,” Sam assured him, and they shook hands. “So _you're_ Hernandez' fancy magic-worker.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Jesus, no, that's his wife. I just make shiny things move.”

“He's lying,” Hernandez volunteered. “Not about Maryam, you know that Sam, but the shiny things.” With a perfectly straight face he went on. “I requested the matte finish, you'll note.”

Sam and Bucky cracked up at that, while Steve stayed a little back, just watching how everyone interplayed. Sam excused himself to get to work, with a reassuring hand to Hernandez' shoulder and shaking Bucky's hand again.

Bucky shook his head. “ _Anyway_ . Oh. Jamie, have you met Steve Rogers?”

The kid's eyes got  _huge_ , and Steve squirmed, wishing he'd gone out the back. It was nice seeing Bucky and all, but oh, Christ, he hated this. This hero-worship, when he had just wanted to be another grunt in the Army. 

“Sir,” Hernandez said respectfully, and snapped to attention, hand poised to salute.

Steve saluted quickly, but with absolute precision, first so the guy didn't have to hold such a formal stance, second because, fuck, he deserved the recognition and respect of the action. “At ease,” he said, trying for an easy smile. “Retired now, and all.”

“Still.” Hernandez' smile was still huge, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. “It's an honor to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Steve said quietly. “Really. Thank you for your service.”

Hernandez shrugged, his half-smile painfully familiar to Steve. “Duty called, you know?”

“I know,” Steve agreed.

Bucky looked up from the iPad, and smiled at both of them. “Hey, Stevie, wanna do me a favor?”

“Um, okay?”

“Go out and walk around the block with Jamie here? You just have to carry the iPad with you, and stay beside him if you can, so he can match his gait more or less to yours. Talk about whatever, just so neither of you are thinking too much about the actual act of walking, you know? That might help you with the overthinking things,” he explained to Hernandez. “And it'll get me some data of you navigating the delightfully kept-up sidewalks that New York is known for.”

Steve and Hernandez looked at one another, and Steve wondered for a moment which one of them was more terrified of the prospect of walking around the block with the other.

“Here you go,” Bucky said cheerfully, handing Steve the iPad. “See you guys in a few minutes.” He sat down at the laptop, looked up, gave Steve a _very_ eloquent look, and pointedly turned to his work.

“I think we've been given our marching orders,” Hernandez offered, and Steve had to smile. Bucky was spoilt and bossy and would probably talk Steve into coming over for dinner, and Steve loved him.

Oh, shit. Yeah, he definitely loved him. That was something to panic over another time, though.

“So, uh, how do you know him?” Hernandez asked as they went through the big double doors.

“Oh! Um. We met when I fell over in front of him, if you can believe it,” Steve explained, and blushed. “Uh, he's my boyfriend actually.”

Hernandez blinked. “The guy who built my new ankle is dating Captain America. Man, you ever wonder how life got so weird?”

“Approximately every day,” Steve admitted. “And technically I'm not Cap anymore. Just Steve Rogers.”

“'Just' my ass.” Hernandez was grinning, though. “Huh. Small world, anyway.”

“Yeah. So, you live in the neighborhood?” Small talk, yeah. But still – the guy was nice, and it was a lovely late-summer day and Steve Rogers was in love. There were worse things to be doing than walking around the block, talking to a friendly fellow vet.

They took their time getting back inside, and Bucky looked up to greet them both with a grin. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Honestly, this is amazing, Bucky,” Jamie said. “It's not like I forget I've got the thing, but it doesn't feel different, you know?”

“I know,” Bucky agreed, taking the iPad from Steve. “I'm done with you for now, I think – I'll look over the data we collected and see if there's any more fine-tuning any of us can do. Are you free this time next week?”

Hernandez nodded, grabbing a grubby messenger bag and making ready to go. “I might have to bring my youngest with me, is that okay?”

“You mean America?” Bucky smiled at his nod. “You better bring her. I'll teach her how to make a battery out of potato while you walk in circles, okay?”

“I like how you pretend she won't have you wrapped around her little finger in twenty seconds,” Hernandez said, and shook Bucky's hand. “Hey. Thanks.”

“You're doing all the hard work here,” Bucky said. “But you're welcome.”

“Good meeting you,” Hernandez said, and Steve shook his hand. 

“Likewise. Oh, hey – here,” he said, pulling one of his cards out of his wallet. “If you ever need anything and the VA isn't coming through for you, get in touch. If I show up even slightly annoyed, everyone goes white as a sheet and falls over themselves to make me happy. It's hilarious to watch,” Steve said with a sly grin.

“I can imagine. Thanks for this.” He saluted Steve, more casually this time, and took his leave.

“Hey, baby.” Bucky looked up from the iPad and leaned in for a kiss. “Thanks for letting me steal you away.”

“My pleasure. Um. You free for dinner?”

Bucky chewed his lip. “Sort of? I really should at least start going over this stuff...”

“My place?” Steve suggested. “I'll cook, you work. Then maybe a movie?”

“Deal,” Bucky decided, and kissed him again before he started to pack up. “I'm gonna start camping out here regularly, if it means I get cooked for.”

“Hey, anytime,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, do you come here often?”

“Why, doll, you lookin' to pick me up another night?” Bucky winked. “Not really, but we needed some space, and it's a safe place for him. Little bit easier to do what we need doing. And, you know, my boyfriend wandering by certainly helps.”

“Charmer,” Steve said with no heat to it, but he looped his arm through Bucky's as they walked out the door.

 


	6. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last section of this chapter contains a description of a past abusive relationship, although it's relatively vague.

Bucky answered his door and whatever he had been expecting, it was not Natasha towing a bruised and bloodied Steve Rogers.

“I found this outside,” she said dryly, shoving Steve forward. “I think it belongs to you.”

“Nat, what? And _Steve_ , for fuck's sake, what happened?” Bucky stood aside so they could both come in, then moved to cup Steve's face in his hand. He made a soft scolding sound, taking in the two black eyes (one swollen shut), split lip, the blood staining one cheek. “Oh, baby.”

“I'll be fine in a couple hours,” Steve mumbled. “She wouldn't believe me.”

“No, I believe you,” Nat said calmly, hanging up her jacket. “I just also think that if left to your own devices, you won't be taking care of yourself until you _are_ fine.”

“She's right,” Bucky said. “Go lie down on the sofa. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Um.” Steve held up his right hand, the knuckles battered and bleeding. “And I sprained my wrist, but it'll be fine soon Buck, honest --”

“Broken,” Nat called from the kitchen. “Probably. I've got ice.”

Bucky sighed, and gave Steve a little push. “Sofa, now. I'll get the first-aid kit.” He smiled, and kissed Steve's shoulder. “You're lucky I got the deluxe edition, baby.”

He found the thing at the bottom of his closet and came back into the living room to find Nat standing over Steve, a bag of frozen peas over his face and another (frozen blueberries this time) on his wrist.

“For heaven's sake, you're not any trouble, so stop it,” she scolded.

“Listen to Nat,” Bucky chimed in, handing the box over to her. “Do you mind? I can't really --” he nodded to his empty left sleeve. Of all the fucking weeks for his arm to be in the lab to be rebuilt.

“Of course. Make sure that ice is over his eye.” Nat opened the plastic box and started rummaging through, pulling out more ice packs, bandages, and a light splint. “At least the other guys look worse.”

“You two know you're overreacting, right?” Steve mumbled, as together they prodded him into place, so that at the end of it Steve's head was in Bucky's lap, Bucky holding the ice over his face, and Nat was able to work on his wrist.

“We are not, you're just used to people under-reacting,” Nat said. “Steve, I am a woman of many talents, but x-ray vision isn't one. Does this wrist need setting or will the serum handle it?”

“Doesn't need setting,” Steve admitted. “The way the healing works...it's like it resets my body to zero?”

“Got it. Hold Bucky's hand and squeeze if you need to – there's a dear. I'll try not to hurt you.” Nat's voice was gentle in a way that made Bucky's heart ache with the memory of the last time he'd heard her like that. Whatever Steve had been doing, it had clearly won Natasha Romanov over one hundred percent.

Bucky rubbed his thumb over the knuckles of Steve's good hand, soothing and gentling. “Hurt anywhere else? I'm serious, Steve. I will not have you in my home going without.”

He could see half of Steve's smile. “Some bruises on my ribs. That's all, I swear.”

“All right.” A little squeeze when Nat started wrapping Steve's arm. “What happened, baby?”

“It wasn't my fault,” Steve started, and Bucky got the feeling that he said that a lot. “It was this group of guys, and the things they were saying to girls – _girls,_ Buck, couldn't've been more'n sixteen – it wasn't right.”

“There were five of them and one of him,” Nat offered. 

Bucky sighed, and stroked Steve's hair. “What I am about to say does not condone you getting hurt in any way, you got me?”

“Uh, yes?”

“You did good, Stevie, and I'm proud of you. Someone had to stop those assholes.” He lifted Steve's hand and kissed his fingers. “Maybe next time less with the you winding up bloodied?” He was doubly gratified to see Steve's brilliant, shit-eating grin _and_ Nat's obvious surprise.

“You're not going to yell at him for putting himself in danger?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Nat, that would be like yelling at the sky for being blue,” Bucky said patiently. “And you're totally different. Steve actually _will_ heal up in a few hours. _Unlike_ you.”

“Wait, what?” Steve sat up to look Nat in the eye. “ _You_ tell assholes where to get off?”

“With her fists,” Bucky offered helpfully. “You guys should be besties.”

Nat gave him an eloquent look and even more eloquent finger. “When the need arises.” She smiled at the look on Steve's face. “ _I_ know how to duck a punch, though. Incidentally.” 

Bucky shrugged when Steve looked at him. “Don't look at me. The lady's right, on all counts.”

Nat finished packing up the unused bits, and stood up to go stash the first-aid kit away. “By the way, ask your boyfriend how he knows so much about not judging people who get in street fights.”

Bucky smiled weakly when Steve whipped around to glare at him. “I have a mean left hook? Well, most of the time.”

“You don't heal overnight either,” Steve pointed out, scowling.

“I, too, know how to duck,” Bucky said serenely, pushing Steve's shoulder. “Lie down, baby. I'll order some pizzas for dinner, you're gonna need calories.”

“Thanks,” Steve said softly, once he'd been settled back on Bucky's lap. “Both of you.”

“We did plan to hang out together again,” Nat pointed out from where she was draped over a nearby armchair. “And I know for a fact that Bucky has a fantastic array of games.”

“I'm pretty sure Natasha's a sore loser, but we'll never know, because she _never loses_ ,” Bucky warned Steve. 

“Well, yeah, not to _you_ ,” Steve replied blandly, and grinned at the look this earned him. “Any chance you've got Love Letter?”

“Oh hell no,” Nat said. “You've got a photographic memory and that game is an exercise in card-counting. Chrononauts, please.”

“I would ask if I get a say since we're under my roof, but I already know the answer to that,” Bucky said, a little plaintively. 

“You also said something about pizza?” Steve asked hopefully, and laughed when Bucky tipped his head back on the sofa and gave a truly impressive sigh. “I promise to beat Nat at something for you.”

“My hero,” Bucky said drily. “What d'you want on yours, Stevie?”

“Um, better make it everything. And a large. I can pay for it --”

“Don't you dare. My treat. Nat, the usual?”

“Mmmhmm.” Natasha swung her feet happily while Bucky called in the order – one large with everything and one large half pepperoni and extra garlic and half green pepper and olives, because even multiple years of friendship hadn't improved on the perfect split pizza. And an order of garlic bread. Doubled, he added, after a look at the super-soldier in his lap grinning up at him.

“ _My_ hero,” Steve said. 

“If all it takes is a good pizza-place, Steve, I'll be making you my minion in no time,” Nat declared.

“Aw, honey, you say that like we aren't already,” Bucky offered, and gave her his prettiest smile when she shot a look at him. “Well, it's true.”

“He's right,” Steve said. 

“If that's true, my first order of business is teaching you to _avoid_ getting hit,” Natasha declared. “Seriously, who taught you hand-to-hand?”

“The Army. Who taught you?” Steve asked cautiously.

“You don't have the security clearance to know.” Nat grinned. “Seriously, want to spar sometime?”

“Um. Yes. Yeah, actually, I do.” Steve tilted his head back to smile at her, wrinkling his nose when Bucky replaced the frozen peas. “You know you don't really need to do that.”

“Does it feel better with the cold?” Bucky asked.

“Well, yeah, but --”

“But me no buts. Just because you heal faster than the rest of us doesn't mean that you should be in pain.”

“Uh.” Steve subsided, though, cuddling a little closer to Bucky. “So, Nat. I'd ask what you do, but I have a feeling you can't tell me.”

“Nope, sorry. I have an array of cover stories, if you'd be interested in one?”

Bucky laughed. “Tell him the engineer one! It's great!”

“Bucky, cribbing your life story is not interesting to anyone but you.”

“Shut up, I'm fascinating. Steve, tell Nat I'm fascinating.”

“Steve would like to remain a neutral territory,” he announced. “And I would be happy to hear any of your cover stories, Nat.”

“You're my boyfriend, you're supposed to be on my side,” Bucky whined.

“Eh. I wanna see what she's come up with.” Steve grinned from his position still lying in Bucky's lap, petted and cared-for and adored.

Let no one say that Bucky Barnes didn't know a lost cause when he'd seen one.

 

 

“Okay, how the hell do you get Squa Tront half the time?” Bucky demanded, eyes wide at the latest game. “You haven't even shuffled the cards tonight!”

“Luck,” Natasha smirked. “And the poetry of the universe.”

“Oh, bite me,” Bucky declared, rolling his eyes as Steve snickered. “And pour me another glass of wine?”

“Of course,” Natasha said graciously, topping up both their glasses. “And we can play something else if you're going to whine.”

“I'm not whining! Steve, tell her I'm not whining?”

“Natasha, Bucky says he's not whining,” Steve said with an absolutely straight face.

“You are the least useful boyfriend _ever_ ,” Bucky announced. He flexed his hand and shrugged, looking at the laid-out timeline in front of the three of them. “One more game?”

“Fine by me.”

“Let me see your hand,” Nat instructed. “I mean, your physical hand, not the cards.”

It was Bucky's turn to roll his eyes and reach over to Nat. “It just gets a little cramped sometimes, when it's doing the work of two,” he explained to Steve and Steve's worried frown. “I'm  _fine_ , Natalia.”

“Hm. Last game, then I'll give you a massage.”

“Never turn down one of those,” Bucky promised, and blew her a kiss.

Natasha destroyed them all (and the timeline) in record time, and Steve started sorting and putting away the cards while Nat worked on Bucky's hand and forearm, and they chatted about his work.

“How 'bout you, Steve? What are you up to?” she asked, maybe a little too innocently.

“Um. Mostly freeloading.”

“Steve, stop, you're not,” Bucky chided. “Don't say that.”

“It's kinda true, Buck.” Steve smiled and shook his head, the words not hurting as much as usual when he had to tell someone he was being useless. Maybe the glass of wine had done something, maybe it was the warmth of a night having fun with friends. “Sorry, Nat, I'm dull. If I'm not here, I'm at the VA center.”

“Or visiting me at work, or out running, or going for a walk,” Bucky added. “Stevie, you're working hard. Just not being paid for it.”

Steve made a face. “I don't think my life counts as work.”

“Really?” Nat said softly. “I do.” She looked up and met Steve's eyes, strong hands still at work on Bucky's arm. “Other things will come to you, honey. There's a whole world out there, and you'll get there.”

“Really?” Steve smiled and dropped his gaze. “You got out?”

“Of something. Not the Army, but...yeah. I got out. You know all this though, about stuff coming in its own time.”

“No, everyone _tells_ me all this. And I watch people come and go from the Center, and I'm not as badly off as a lot of them, and still...” He looked up, hoping he wasn't showing how hopeless he felt too nakedly.

“Doesn't matter. You're not them.” Nat's voice was crisp and kind, autumn sunshine. Appropriate, considering her hair, and the cozy-looking sweater she wore against the October chill. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Steve Rogers.”

“I...uh. Thank you.” He swallowed hard.

“That's enough,” Bucky said quietly, pulling his hand back and reaching for Steve, lacing their fingers together. “Thank you though. Really.”

“You're welcome.” Nat took a long sip from her glass and smiled at both of them. “Steve, you won't believe me now, maybe. But someday you'll wake up and you'll be back in the world, and you'll wonder how it all happened so fast.”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “I believe you. Just wish it would happen a little faster, you know?”

“I know,” Nat promised, and deliberately, carefully changed the subject.

 

 

 

Later that night, after Nat left, Bucky sent Steve to get ready for bed while he tidied up the kitchen and got the coffee ready. The lights were low when he went into the bedroom, Steve stretched out on the bed in the pajamas he'd started keeping in a corner of Bucky's dresser.

“Hey, you.” Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to kiss Steve softly. 

“Hey yourself.” Steve snaked out an arm to wrap around Bucky's waist, pulling him a little closer. “I like your bed, by the way.”

“Good, it suits you.” Bucky finger-combed Steve's hair, pushing too-long bangs out of his face. “How's your wrist, baby?”

Steve wriggled his fingers against Bucky's side, reassuring him. “Itchy. Probably be healed, or nearly so, tomorrow. How's my face look?”

Bucky traced a finger around one eye. “Little bit of bruising, but I don't think anyone would notice unless they knew to look for it.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss over first one eye, then the other, then Steve's cheek where he'd cut it. “Feel okay?”

“Fine, honest.” He could feel Bucky smile against his mouth, and it warmed him, filled him up. Such tenderness and care, all for just _him_. Something warm bloomed in his chest and he sat up, wrapping his arms around Bucky. 

And then, easy as breathing. “I love you.”

The smile he was rewarded with was bright and beautiful and rare, Bucky's whole face, his whole  _body_ lighting up as he laughed and kissed Steve hard, and fell back to lie across Steve's lap, arm flung wide. “Hey world! Steve Rogers loves  _me_ !”

Steve laughed, and rubbed the palm of his hand over Bucky's stomach. “Yeah. I do.” A shy smile. “So how does Bucky Barnes feel about Steve Rogers?”

Bucky put his hand over Steve's, laced their fingers together. “I love you, of course. You gotta know that by now. I love you, Stevie.”

Well, yeah, he'd known, the way he knew he loved Bucky, but the words still felt like...like the feeling he had gotten waking up warm and bathed in sunlight, his first sunny day back home, like the whole universe was holding its breath so as to remain perfect for an instant, just for him. Steve reckoned some of this must have shown on his face, the way Bucky sat up and wrapped his hand around the back of Steve's head and pulled him close for a kiss that lasted, oh, hours at least. Breath shared, mouths opening, all good things. So what if it was probably actually only a few minutes. Hours, in the way it mattered.

“Hey world,” Steve whispered. “Bucky Barnes loves me.”

Bucky nudged his nose against Steve's cheek, glorious smile still there. “He does. Oh, honey...”

Steve held him close for a moment, savoring, then lay back with Bucky still sitting, legs crossing Steve's and smiling down at him. He reached up, running his hand along Bucky's side, soft fabric over warm skin, using his thumb to trace the line of Bucky's ribs. “Hey, beautiful.”

Bucky grinned and caught up Steve's hand, kissing the fingertips. “Can I kiss you all over?”

Steve laughed, and nodded. “Can I hold you all night?”

Bucky nodded firmly. “Can I...” he paused to think, “give you a back rub?”

“Please.” Steve danced his fingers over Bucky's mouth, marveling at the soft pout, the kisses that were all his. “Can I touch you all over? Every inch of you. _Every_ inch,” he said pointedly, just grazing his hand over Bucky's left shoulder. “Don't you give me that look.”

Bucky giggled, and nodded. “In that case... Can I strip you down, unwrap you just for myself?”

“Uh huh.” Steve smiled and stretched out, consciously showing off for Bucky. “Hey baby?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“I love you.”

Bucky laughed and leaned over, stroking Steve's face so very gently. “I love you too. Hey. Serious question for you, darling.”

“I'll try to give you a serious answer, but I make no promises.”

Bucky tweaked his nose. “Ass. Um. Just out of curiosity, are you asexual?”

Steve shrugged. “I dunno. Gray-ace probably? Does it matter?”

“God, no, not at all. Just curious.” Bucky smiled. “Wanna take care of you. If that means no sex, that's okay, by the way.”

“Gray-ace?” Steve asked, and Bucky shook his head.

“Not...exactly? Or, didn't start out that way.” He gave a funny half-smile. “I don't...I don't want to go into details, not tonight. But I...because of things. In my life. I don't...”

“Shhh. Hey. Love, you don't have to tell me anything, explain anything to me,” Steve soothed, sitting up and taking Bucky's hand in both of his. “I'd never, ever ask you to do anything you didn't want to, not in bed.”

“Going with you to see _Billy Elliot_ on the other hand...” Bucky winked. “Thank you. Let's just leave it – because of things done to me, I don't...I like being intimate in ways other than straight-up fucking. It has _nothing_ to do with you,” he said firmly. “Nothing at all. I trust you with my life, Steve, got it?”

“Got it,” Steve said, just as firmly. “I'm sorry, darling. For whatever happened to you.” A soft kiss. “I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Bucky snuggled closer into Steve's arms, sighing happily. “So about stripping you down...”

Steve laughed, pressing kisses against the side of Bucky's neck. “I'm yours entirely. And I'd be very happy if you stripped yourself, by the way. Or let me undress you.”

“Kay.” Bucky didn't move though, resting heavy in Steve's arms instead. “I'll take care of you first. In a minute.”

“Uh huh. Spoiled boy.” Steve nuzzled his cheek. “C'mon. I want to see you.” He gathered the hem of Bucky's shirt in one hand, pulling it over his head and off.

“Hey, no, you're hurt, you should be --”

“Doing what I like, and I like this” Steve interrupted, running his hand over Bucky's newly-bared chest. 

“I swear I don't mean to be lazy...”

Steve laughed out loud. “Baby, you've worked at least fifty hours every week since I've met you, plus providing me with a boyfriend, dates, and an actual social life. Lazy is the  _last_ word I'd use to describe you.” He dropped a kiss at the point where Bucky's collarbones met, nuzzling a little. “I love spoiling you. You were made for it, made to be adored, cuddled and kissed and everything that makes you feel good.”

Bucky shuddered a little, and Steve laid him down on the bed, shifting them so that Bucky was lying on the bed and Steve knelt by him, stroking the hand that wasn't splinted down Bucky's torso, his shoulder, his arm, not wanting even the slight roughness of the bandages on his right hand to touch him just this moment. He let his hand rest on Bucky's belt buckle. “May I?”

Bucky nodded, sighing happily and rolling his hips when Steve had pulled the belt off and popped the button on his jeans. “Baby...” He reached up, caressing Steve's arm, already sloe-eyed with pleasure.

“Yup. Definitely meant to be adored,” Steve murmured, pulling Bucky's jeans off and tossing them aside.

Bucky giggled and hid his face to the side, and oh for fuck's sake, that was so adorable it should be  _illegal_ , Steve decided, and told him so, just making Bucky laugh more. “It's true! You're ridiculous.”

“So're you,” Bucky said, giving a little wriggle. “Kiss, please.”

Steve grinned and leaned over for the lightest of kisses.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky whined, and laughed when Steve rubbed their noses together. He reached for Steve's belt buckle, using it to pull him a little closer, yanking so that Steve had to put his arms out to catch himself.

“Shit! Shit, I'm so sorry, your arm --”

“Is fine,” Steve soothed. “Nothing more than a twinge.” He kissed Bucky's thigh when the other man sat up, enjoying the warm skin and downy hair. “No harm done, precious.”

“Good,” Bucky said softly. He caressed Steve's face, thumb tracing the line of his jaw, then turned it into a fluid motion down his chest. He was gentle and sure, clever at undressing Steve so that Steve hardly had to shift.

And he surely couldn't miss the effect his hands were having on Steve, the whole tender evening. A soft hum and a kiss to Steve's stomach, and yes, he definitely hadn't missed that.

“You like getting sucked off, right?” Bucky asked softly, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes.

“Yeah, but Buck, only if you want --”

“I want,” Bucky assured him. “I want very much.” He smiled shyly. “You sure you want me to...?”

“More than anything,” Steve said softly. “Bucky. I trust you.”

Bucky's smile grew and he leaned up to kiss Steve thoroughly while his hand slipped and slid down Steve's stomach, caressing his belly, his thighs, circling, never quite touching.

Ah, oh, there. Bucky wasn't a tease, not really. Not the way he was kissing, his tongue plunging into Steve's mouth at the same time his hand wrapped around Steve's cock, warm and sure. He sprawled across Steve's body, warm and dear and heavy as he started to kiss his way down. Steve ghosted his hands over Bucky's shoulders, just in case he needed the help balancing, a little more support, but he was fine, of course he was fine, his beautiful lover who could do anything.

Steve bit back a moan when he finally felt Bucky's mouth, not quite wrapping around his cock just yet, breathing hot and wonderful. So easy to relax and let his legs fall open, let Bucky lie between them and kiss his thighs, the line over his hips, so easy to let go and be loved.

Bucky was  _good_ . And very clearly enjoying himself. And for a guy who was currently down a hand, he was, well, pretty handsy. Caresses, a little pinch here in there to make Steve's breath hitch, warm palm wide on his body making him loved and calm and happy and through it all Bucky's mouth, clever and warm and wet as any man could want.

Steve's breath hitched and he probably gasped out a warning, not that Bucky's mouth moved at all. Not that he wasn't still gentling Steve through it all when his breathing calmed, when Bucky finally crawled back up to half-sprawl on top of Steve. He petted damp hair off of Steve's brow, and kissed him. “There we are, my darling,” he murmured, and Steve  _knew_ his smile was silly as hell, but this was Bucky and he felt so, so good.

“Water?” At Steve's nod, he reached for the glass by the bed, and used his shoulder to nudge Steve up, giving him something to rest against while he drank.

“Mmm. Thank you, baby.” Steve turned and kissed Bucky lightly.

“The pleasure was definitely all mine,” Bucky teased, and laughed when Steve blew a raspberry into his cheek. “Ew!”

“Please, that was nothing. Ew would be this,” Steve informed him, rolling over so he could lick a line across Bucky's chest. He made sure it was not sensuous in the least – just his tongue, as flattened as it would go, dragging through rough chest hair.

“ _Ew_ , Steve!” More laughing, and Bucky shoved him away to land on a pile of pillows.

“Is this what it's like to be you?” Steve mused aloud, wriggling to get more comfortable. “Surrounded by comfort, my boyfriend fetching me water, my every whim answered to?”

“ _Awful_ ,” Bucky declared, placing a kiss right over Steve's heart. “Completely awful.”

“Yup, this is what it's like to be you.” Steve smiled, and tugged Bucky into his arms. “Spoilt. Beautiful. Good and kind and generous,” he murmured, nuzzling Bucky's ear. “Beloved. Cherished. Flooring me every day with how amazing you are.”

“Steve.” Bucky hid his face for a moment, ears gone bright red.

“Blushes easily, too.” Steve kissed what he could reach, which was mostly Bucky's hair, soft strands tickling his nose.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky whined, and Steve laughed again, running his hand down the length of his body

“Your turn, darling.” He wasn't the only one who was up for something other than their usual cuddles and kisses – 'up' being the operative word. Very pleased with his pun, Steve tilted Bucky's chin up, kissing him deeply. “I like giving too, you know.”

Bucky cupped Steve's chin in his hand and, for a long moment, just looked. Did nothing but meet his eyes, and Steve had no idea what was going on in his lover's head, but he waited, patient and gentle, and Bucky finally nodded, leaning in for a kiss.

“Do you want a safeword, love?”

Bucky shook his head. “I know you'll stop if I say.” He grinned, a little sly. “Not that I plan on saying. Love your mouth, Stevie.”

“Love putting it on you,” Steve teased back, and moved so that Bucky could lie back on the pile of pillows. He knelt between Bucky's legs and kissed him, long and hard and lovely, his good hand stroking the long lines of Bucky's body. Muscular, but lithe, very nearly a dancer's build and currently writhing under Steve's touch in the most gorgeous way. Steve let himself sit back on his heels, and just _look_ , just for a minute, take in Bucky moaning his name, his arm reaching out for Steve, slim legs spread and his cock hard and curving so beautifully against his stomach. Steve kissed one shoulder, then the other. Then the point of one hip, then the other, teasing just to hear Bucky whine at him.

“I've got you,” he murmured against the crease of Bucky's hip, breathing in the warmth of it, just the faintest sheen of sweat. Easy as anything to kiss a line over, starting by lapping the head of his cock, taking just the tip in his mouth, then more, a little more here and there as he kept his tongue gentle, here flat and lapping, here pointed, a little harder.

He took his time, loving the way Bucky moaned, keened, finally wailed his name and shot so wonderfully into Steve's mouth. He swallowed instinctively and hid the face he made – Bucky drank way too much coffee – in kissing the softer planes of his lover's stomach, then his chest, then up to press mouths together while he gathered Bucky close, smiling against his mouth when he cuddled into Steve immediately.

“I love you,” Bucky breathed, winding his arm around Steve's neck. “I love you so much, you're so good to me, _so_ good, my gorgeous man. Can't believe I get you all to myself, you're so _good_.”

Steve laughed, and peppered Bucky's face with kisses. “Like it's hard to love you.”

Bucky nudged his nose against Steve's cheek, and kissed him. “Sometimes it is.”

“Maybe. Don't care. You're the best thing to happen to me in such a long time.” Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and rolled so that the other man sprawled on top of him. 

Bucky sighed happily when Steve ran his hand up and down Bucky's back, soothing and nice. “You too, honey. So good for me, you have no idea.”

Steve paused, and hugged Bucky tighter. “Good, I'm glad. C'mon, pull the quilt up or you'll get cold,” he instructed, and they wiggled under the blankets together, neither wanting to let go. “There we are.”

Bucky giggled and tucked in close. “'s getting cold out. Winter's coming.”

“Mmm.” And Steve had been home for over a year now, and none the better for it. Well, a little better.

“Baby?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“I love you.” Bucky's voice was quiet and so...so _real_ somehow, real enough to pull Steve out of his own head.

“Thank you,” he whispered, hoping he could get across what he meant. Thank you for being funny and kind, thank you for understanding, thank you for that time you spent three hours kissing every inch of me so I learned where I stopped and the world began, thank you for caring that a strange man had just fallen in front of you, thank you for the times you drive me crazy, thank you for loving me.

“Sleep, precious.” And Steve did, eventually.

 

***

 

“Hey, I'm sorry about freaking out earlier.” Bucky bit his lip, and crawled into bed. They had gone over to Sam's to play video games and probably shouldn't have strayed from Mario Kart.

Steve leaned over to kiss his boyfriend's cheek. “It's okay, honey. No harm done.”

Bucky smiled and closed his eyes. “Steve.”

“Bucky, what's wrong? No one's angry at you.” Steve curled an arm around Bucky's shoulders and cuddled him close.

“The last guy I dated abused the hell out of me.”

Steve froze in place, and somehow had the ability to stay still while he remembered how to breathe again. “Jesus, Buck,” he finally managed. “I...”

Bucky turned to meet his eyes, face as serious as Steve had ever seen it. “It was a couple years ago. It's not...it's not important, except for when it is.” He worked his jaw for a moment, obviously thinking. “Like when I ask you not to hold me down, or when I can't deal with...some things.”

“Oh, darling.” Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky's cheek, then to his temple. “I'm so, so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Steve, I'm not gonna break in two all've a sudden,” Bucky said, but his voice was warm and relaxed.

“I know. Just like you know I'm _definitely_ gonna survive anything, but you still treat me like spun glass if I so much as stub a toe.”

“Someone's gotta make up for all the times no one took care of you,” Bucky grumbled, poking Steve in the stomach.

“And _someone's_ gotta make up for the time anyone dared to be cruel to you,” Steve said softly, hoping he'd masked the hot, sharp spike of anger he felt. “I wanna be that someone.”

“More'n happy to let you,” Bucky said, squirming close. “Hug, please."

Steve smiled into Bucky's hair, wrapping his arms gently around his boyfriend. “For as long as you want, baby.”

“Settle in. You should know.” Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve's shoulder. “The first thing you should know is that therapy is really helpful once you let it be.”

Steve laughed, and started stroking his hand down Bucky's back, palm gliding over the long, lean lines of it. That he would feel any hint of tension was an added benefit, really. “I  _know_ . Honest.”

Bucky nodded, and tucked his head under Steve's chin, settling in for the long haul. “His name was Brock. And he's out of my life forever, so you don't need to worry about anything with him. And there's another man involved named Alexander. He's dead now, so we're safe from him.”

“Bucky, you're safe from everyone,” Steve said softly. “Anyone wants to get to you, they gotta go through me.”

“Mmm. Still. I guess I should start at the beginning.”

“Only if you want to,” Steve said. “You don't have to do anything for me, love. But I'm here for whatever you want to tell me.”

Bucky nodded. “It feels...I dunno. Like I'm being stupid and dramatic, but it was a thing that happened to me. And sometimes it still affects me, and it's gonna affect you, so I want you to understand.”

“Hey.” Steve pulled back a moment to meet Bucky's eyes. “Even if it somehow had no effect on me at all, I'd sit and listen and hold you, got it? It's important in your life, which means it's important in my life now. This is totally about you, love.”

Bucky hesitated, then nodded and kissed Steve briefly before tucking himself back where his head rested over Steve's heart, but they couldn't make eye contact.

“It all started years and years ago. I met Brock at a bar, totally randomly, and we hit it off. He was...well, gorgeous. Older than me by a good decade, charming as you please. Really well-educated, intelligent, you name it.” Bucky's voice was soft and steady, obviously used to the story now.

“So Brock had this...thing, with a man named Alexander Pierce. Alexander was older, well into his seventies. He kept himself up, though – honestly, Steve, if I age half as well as he did, I'll be doing very well for myself.”

Steve hummed a little. Bucky was going to be gorgeous in fifty years. And twenty. And ten. And tomorrow. He couldn't not be.

“So they had something. I don't know what relationship it was exactly – friends with benefits? Sugar daddy? Genuine caring relationship? Probably a little of each. Whatever they had, it was open; I met Alexander a few times and he obviously knew I was dating Brock, and he was fine with it.” Bucky paused, and took a breath. “More than fine, actually. He asked to watch, a few weeks after I started sleeping with Brock.”

Steve kept up the slow steady rhythm, his hand running down Bucky's back, warm and gentle.

“So I was pretty sure I'd made the big time, you know? Dating this absolutely gorgeous, absolutely _ripped_ human being – Brock was in security, I think he could bench-press _me_ – who was well-off and cultured and got me into very high-end everything. He was...very affectionate,” Bucky said carefully. “Bought me really nice gifts, took me out to dinner – I mean, I was fresh out of college so I could afford ramen and not much else – and he, um, he at least gave the impression that he loved what I had to say. He _listened_ , and he understood and he made me feel smart and handsome and like I could belong in this fancy world.”

“You're brilliant, and gorgeous, and you belong anywhere you want to be,” Steve murmured into Bucky's hair. 

“Shush. Thank you, but don't say anything 'til I tell you the whole stupid story?” Bucky took a deep breath, and Steve nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Right, so. Fabulous start, right? Also a pretty fabulous start to a textbook abusive relationship, in case you were wondering.”

“He was wonderful for a few months, and Alexander was pretty wonderful to me himself. But then...something changed. Brock started to...tease me, I guess. Well, he called it teasing, obviously it was him being an asshole, but I was half in love, so I didn't let on how much it hurt. I mean, I did once, but that...just made it worse.”

Bucky pressed a little closer until he could feel Steve's heartbeat against his cheek. “He'd tell me stuff like I was lucky to have him, 'cause no one else would look twice at me with the whole missing-arm thing – this was before I got the prosthetic. And I thought that was stupid, because I actually somehow managed to have a really healthy self-esteem and...look, it sounds really full of myself, but, um, I know I'm pretty attractive. And I knew it at the time. But he just kept telling me and  _telling_ me and he'd get really smug when he got hit on in clubs and I never did. Which was probably because anyone looking at us together knew not to hit on the guy with the crazy boyfriend, but, you know. It was...proof, somehow, that he was right. That no one else would want me. And when Alexander watched, we had to be careful. I was always lying down and Brock would make me stay still and stay so that Alexander couldn't see my left side because – 'cause apparently he was disgusted by it.”

Steve was immensely glad that they were lying in such a way that Bucky couldn't see him crying, that Bucky only knew he was being held and loved. Because, oh, he couldn't even get angry right now, just weep at how  _wrong_ it was.

“So that started it. Just constantly undermining me. Reminding me that I couldn't afford any of this on my own. That I was smart, but lazy and that's why I had to rely on them for everything. That I'd probably have turned out really hot, without the accident.” Bucky paused and took a deep breath. “That I was broken, but they liked me anyway. And I believed him. It was...like the worst, most text-book, most basic script of how an abusive relationship goes, and I _believed_ him.

“The physical stuff didn't come until almost a year later. That started stupid too – he'd press down on my right shoulder and tickle me and laugh when I couldn't get away. And he wouldn't _stop_ , even if I was screaming and crying, he'd just...not stop.” Bucky shuddered. “It was horrible. He'd only hold down one side. If I'd had two arms, I could have got him to stop, easy. But – well.”

Steve bit down on a harsh noise, but held still and quiet, as Bucky had asked.

“I told you Alexander liked to watch? He never joined, um, in an explicitly sexual way. But I think he was a sadist, or something. What the fuck he and Brock did in their own time I'll never know. But he was the first one to strike me. He'd ask Brock to hold me down, and he'd slap me, hard, and tell me how pretty I was with my face all marked. Or he'd ask Brock to hit me. It was during sex so...I thought it was okay, that it was how they liked to play.

“I still don't know how I got out of it all. I don't know what got me to leave. Brock started smacking me around outside of the bedroom, but...I don't know. I still don't know what broke me, but I was alone in our apartment one night, Brock had gone to Alexander's for a day or two. I had some clothes I'd bought myself, out of savings, and I just put them on and walked out the door. Didn't bring anything with me – didn't even have a bank card, you know? No keys, no phone, just started walking and turned up on Nat's front porch at some ungodly hour of the night. She was amazing. No questions, just let me in and put me to bed. I stayed with her for a little bit, while I got restraining orders and stuff sorted out. I moved out when I got a job, and I've never seen Brock since. Apparently he moved overseas, and Alexander died a year or so later.”

Bucky sighed, deep and long and, somehow, relieved. “So that's it. That's the shit I was still dealing with when we met. 'Cept I think I'll always be dealing with it, somehow, and I want good things too. I want you, Stevie. But this...this is why I'm not so great sometimes.”

“You are _amazing_ ,” Steve said, his voice thick and rough. “You are amazing, James Buchanan Barnes. You are brilliant and strong and there is not one minute since I've met you that you have been anything less than great.”

“ _Steve_ , good grief. I'm nothing special.”

“No.” Steve shifted so he could rest their foreheads together. “Please don't think that, baby? Please. You just told me a story that shows how brave and special you actually are.”

Bucky shrugged. “People get out of shitty relationships every day.”

“Yeah. And they're amazing too. It's so _hard_ , to stop. It's so hard to realize you can free yourself.” Steve opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Bucky's. “I would never, ever blame anyone who stayed. I know how it is, to believe in your heart that something that hurts you every day is better than nothing. But you got away. You're gorgeous and confident and you're your own man now, and you need to know that I am just that much more in awe of you.”

Bucky smiled, and opened his mouth, and whatever he was going to say was lost in tears. He and Steve wrapped around each other, taking strength and giving comfort, Steve's embrace gentle and soft, his arms relaxed so that Bucky knew he could break away any time he wanted to.

He sniffled, and rubbed his eyes hard on his sleeve to scrub away the tears, and turned to his boyfriend. Steve's eyes were swollen and red, his fair skin puffy from crying and Bucky kissed away the tears and the tear-tracks, soothing and gentle. “Hey,” he said softly, and kissed Steve, just the lightest pressing of lips. “I'll go get us some water, okay?”

Steve nodded, and lay back down, curling up so that he rested his head on what had become Bucky's pillow. Bucky smiled down at him and finally tore himself away. A few minutes apart would let them catch their breaths, and he could take care of Steve, just a little.

He came back with two glasses of water, handing one to Steve, who drained half of it before lying down again, his head in Bucky's lap this time.

“Hey, you. How are you?” Bucky asked, combing his fingers through Steve's hair.

Steve paused for a long moment, then rolled over so he could look up at Bucky. “Other than besotted with you? I'm okay, baby. I'm sad that you had to go through that, and angry at the people who did horrible things to you. Tomorrow I'm going to send Nat the biggest bouquet of roses money can buy, by the way.” He smiled, and reached up to touch his fingertips to Bucky's lips. “Might be a little more cuddly than usual for a bit.”

“I am entirely okay with that,” Bucky said, and kissed Steve's fingertips. “Please don't worry about me, though? I've lived with this for years now, and I've mostly undone all the ways Brock fucked with my head. But it didn't feel right anymore, for you not to know.”

Steve nodded. “I have stuff like that. Stuff I'll tell you someday.” He shifted to kiss Bucky's stomach. “I wanna do something nice for you. What would you love, right now?”

Bucky laughed, still petting Steve's hair. “This? I don't know. Let me think.” He touched his thumb to Steve's lips and smiled at the little kiss he got. “Do you trust me to take care of both of us, darling?”

“Yes.” Steve didn't even have to think before giving his answer.

“Then I choose tickle fight.”

Steve's eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I fucking reclaim this. I trust you to stop if I tell you to. I trust you not to hold me down. And Stevie?”

“Yes, love?” Steve said gently, raising his arm to touch Bucky's face, trace the dear planes of it with his fingertips.

“I fight fuckin' _dirty,_ ” Bucky cooed, and attacked, fingers going for Steve's exposed ribs.

Steve yelped and curled onto his side to protect his ribs, which just exposed his  _other_ side and Jesus Christ but Bucky was quick. He just managed to roll away, landing so as to give himself access to the backs of Bucky's knees, quickly reducing the other man to laughter like Steve had never heard from him before. Bucky laughed with his whole body, twisting and moving and going for Steve's belly, leaving his own sides exposed.

They wrestled on the bed, tickling and evading and diving away from one another in great dramatic motions that accomplished little to nothing until finally Steve begged for a truce between catching his breath and Bucky wrapped his arms and legs around him, pressing little kisses all over Steve's face.

“Thank you,” Bucky said simply, and Steve smiled up at him, absolutely breathtaking. 

“Anytime. Even if you do fight dirty.”

Bucky shrugged, utterly unconcerned, and snuggled close, eyes sliding shut. “You're warm,” he murmured happily, and smiled when he felt Steve's arms rest on his back. “An' comfy. Safe.”

“Always,” Steve said softly. “Precious man. Always safe with me.”

Bucky smiled and relaxed against Steve's body. “I know.” And then he was asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, Love Letter and Chrononauts are both real games, and I highly recommend them.


	7. November

Steve looked up from the journal entry he was not writing, and made a face at the world. It was a sleepy Sunday afternoon, a block of hours meant for slow ease and cups of tea, possibly doing the laundry if one felt the need. Bucky was stretched out on Steve's sofa, absorbed in his book, and Steve felt that  _he_ was really doing this right. 

Sunday afternoon was not a time for freezing in terror at what one's life had turned into, but there you were.

“Hey Buck? Can I ask you...kind of a dumb question?”

“Long as you don't mind a dumb answer.”

“Do I make you happy?”

“Yes.”

Well, there was the answer to that question. Steve returned to staring at the page, and fought the urge to laugh when about thirty seconds later he heard Bucky lower his kindle and go “Wait,  _what_ ?”

“Sorry, it's just...something Sam said to me.”

That got Bucky to sit up and turn around, face stormy. “Sam? If he's...hell  _I'll_ talk to him--”

“No, no, he thinks you're great. Honest, Bucky, I think he's off founding your fan club right now.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “No, it's sort of...some stuff came up in group, and with my counselor, and when I bounced it off Sam it got me thinking and oh my _God_ I am so tired of being sick in the head,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“No,” Bucky said calmly, and got up, coming over to kneel in front of Steve where he sat in the big armchair. “You don't get to say that about yourself, not in that tone.” He gently shifted Steve's hands and replaced them with his own, warm and cool in that way that was solely Bucky's, and Steve closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling of being held. 

“Sorry. I _am_ tired of feeling like my whole life is recovery.”

“That's fair,” Bucky agreed, and kissed him lightly. “Hey. I love you. And you make me _incredibly_ happy, for the record.”

Steve smiled, turning his head to kiss the palm of Bucky's hand. “Love you too. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

 

***

 

Blue sky, green mountains, spring. Warm air that smelled like flowers. Warm air that smelled like smoke.

Blue sky, red earth, screams.

Blue sky above him, so big, the lens of the heavens focused down down why was he looking up? Oh, he was being carried. Running. Stretcher. No pain yet just the song of sky above him and red earth below red red blood red the color of my true love's hair no not that, that wasn't the line and red red blood on red earth on green grass even in blue sky above.

Screams and screams and –

 

“I had a nightmare last night. A new one. It was...I'd been hurt, and I was being carried to a chopper to get me out of there, and all I could see was the sky, and the mountains around us.” Steve paused to take a slow breath. “It was beautiful. All I could see was that it was beautiful and...and I was dying. Anyone else probably woulda been dead.

“But I was...you know, that dream was the first time I realized that it was beautiful? I'd been in that country for months, and I was reliving this horrible moment, but my boyfriend? He woke me up, and he's amazing, he was soothing and perfect and all I could babble about was the color of the sky.” Steve rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “It took me forever to fall asleep, but it was because I wanted to get out of bed and draw – I used to be an artist, before it all. I haven't sketched anything in years, but last night...”

“You do kind of get tunnel vision over there,” Maria offered. She was tiny and muscular and the things she'd talked about had given Steve nightmares. “It's not saying you were dumb, Steve, just that you had a specific set of things to pay attention to, and you did.” She smiled wryly. “Sorry, I fucking hate the desert.”

Steve smiled at her. “Thanks. It's just...where was that being a person when I was  _there_ ? I remember that firefight too. It was a pretty heavy time, so as soon as I was able to hold a gun and run, I was back out in the field.”  _That_ he had not told Bucky, who still grew fiercely protective at any mention of Steve being injured and barely allowed to heal before being deployed again.

“I felt like it took forever to learn how to be a person again,” Kevin offered in his soft voice. “I felt like part of a machine that had been taken out, shoved into a corner unused.”

Everyone was quiet for a little while, no one wanting to speak just then. Until --

“I was a weapon,” Steve said softly, “They made me into a weapon and deployed me. Weapons don't have feelings – God, if it wasn't for the other Howlies...” He swallowed hard. “I was a weapon, and now I'm not.”

“No, you're not,” Sam said gently. “What are you now, though?”

“I...” Steve shook his head. “That's it. That's what I'm trying to figure out. I'm...not a weapon. I'm just, just a person, but I need to be...more.”

Sam nodded. “Exactly. You have your whole life, Steve, what are you going to do with it?”

“I...have no idea,” Steve admitted. “Not be a weapon again.” Never sent into battle, never just a tool for killing. He was more, now. He was the raggedy sofa that he couldn't give up because it was the best napping sofa of all time, and he was loving Bucky and being loved, and he was coffee in the park and the low winter sky over Brooklyn. He was definitely those things, but he wanted more.

“Sometimes I think this is the hardest part,” Sam said. “Figuring out what comes after. You've done a lot in the last few months, Steve, but there's even more to living. You just gotta work it out.”

Steve nodded, and was immensely grateful when someone else started talking. How the fuck was he supposed to even start?

 

***

 

Steve got off the subway at Far Rockaway and started walking. He thought best when he walked. Running was for turning his mind off, and these days, sitting around in his apartment was for getting frustrated and bored until Bucky snapped and begged him for a few minutes of peace.

(They had both apologized, and spent the night tangled together, but still. Steve couldn't blame him; he'd been irritating _himself_ for over a year now.)

So he walked instead. It was good to get out of the apartment, he guessed. That was one of those things that were a sign of progress. And he wasn't as hyper-vigilant as he had been (he noticed alleyways as he passed them of course and the cars behind him and the woman with the baby carriage who had turned the same corner he did), but something about the sound and the smell of the sea, so different from _over_ _there_ , meant that he could focus more on the susurrus around him than on potential harm. 

And he was safe. He knew it, technically. He was safe, and he was a person, a civilian, again. No one wanted him in the sights of their sniper rifle. No one planted IED's out here where the cold wind shrieked around dunes and right through his jacket, where roads had romantic names. (Totally different from the romance promised in Brooklyn's rooftops, in his own Brooklyn bed. This was different, and here on this day, different could be safe.)

Steve strolled along the boardwalk, mostly deserted now that winter had come. It was lovely and lonely though, matching how he felt.

No more a weapon. Home for just over a year now. No more a weapon. Never again being sent out as long as he could stand upright and fire a gun. Now he had a home and a kitchen, he shopped and he cooked, he went to the bar or a coffee shop, he had friends and a boyfriend.

No more a weapon, but no more a member of a team. Those friends and that boyfriend – oh, God, he loved them all. They were welcome and wonderful, but they weren't the Howlies. They weren't the guys he'd lived on top of for years, all of them sharing that exquisite pain and emerging from Dr. Erskine's lab to different bodies, even different minds. Steve had always been passionate, but he'd never felt things like  _this_ – a side effect of the serum. And now they were there, still being useful, and he was here. 

Steve looked out at the sea, looked east, so far east, imagined he was looking towards his brothers out there. He couldn't have stayed, it was killing him slowly. Not physically, but in the mind. Maybe he should never have volunteered. Or maybe he'd played his part, and now that scene was ended, but he missed being that useful. He missed the others. He didn't miss being a weapon, exactly, but it had required no thought on his part beyond the immediate, and there had been comfort in that. Steve had been a good soldier.

He watched the sun drop low in the winter sky, and turned to walk back to the subway stop. He had been a good soldier, but not a great one. And good enough to stick it out. So it went.

Steve tried not to bid goodbye to the past as he left the sweet winds off the sea, because that was stupid and besides, it didn't work that way. The war was still with him, he still woke up and felt like a weapon some days. (Those days often meant he stayed indoors, but less now. He was braver, now, in a lot of ways, he decided.) But he wasn't at war and he wasn't a weapon, and now he had to find new things to be good at.

Steve breathed deep as they thundered towards New York. No grand revelations; he hadn't expected any. But a calm in his mind that hadn't been there before, a nice ache in his feet (already easing). He texted Bucky, asking if he should pick something up for dinner on the way. Then he sent another to Nat, to see if she was free for a beer on Wednesday night. Then he watched the world go by, breathing calm and even, and wondered a little more what he could, what he _would_ become.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope it's not too blindingly obvious I've never been to Far Rockaway...


	8. December

“Bucky, help, I need you to show up to a party and be charming and witty.”

“At last, someone recognizes my natural talents,” Bucky said, idly flicking down Vox's front page. “Will you be there?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm, shame about that. But I guess I can make the sacrifice.” Bucky smiled and sprawled back in his chair. “What's up, baby?”

“There's a Christmas party at the VA. Well, I mean, it's at a bar, but it's all people _from_ the VA. They rented out a room or something. Um, lots of people are going to be there.”

“And you want a date?”

Steve sounded absolutely  _miserable_ , and it would have melted Bucky's heart if he wasn't taking such joy from teasing the hell out of his boyfriend. “Yes. Please. I mean, I want to go, and I want to see everyone just... _everyone_ . And I'm so bad at stuff like this and you're so good at it--”

“Steve, of course I'll go with you. That's, like, one of the laws of dating. And you're plenty charming, give yourself some credit.”

“I'm okay,” Steve admitted. “Until I'm next to you.”

“Can I help the gifts God gave me? No, no I cannot.” Bucky purposely didn't laugh, because Steve was clearly quietly dying a little inside. And Bucky was nicer than that. This time. “Honey, it's your friends and a whole bunch of people you have at least something in common with. I will happily be your arm-candy and be charming and friendly, but you would be fine on your own. Promise.”

“Yeah but...I don't have to be.” Steve's voice was soft and slow, like he was just realizing this. “I don't _have_ to be alone.”

“No, love. You don't,” Bucky said, gentling his voice as much as possible. “Not now. Not ever, if I've got anything to say about it.”

Steve goes quiet for a long time. “You know,” he finally says, “I really did call just to ask if you wanted to go to this stupid party with me.”

“A date and a bonus major life realization! All in one phone call,” Bucky teased. “When is this thing, by the way?”

“Friday evening? Seven? It's at someplace called Triskelion.”

“I know it, it's really nice. Relaxed, lots of unfinished wood and actual decent lighting. Want to meet at my place, then walk over? I promise I'll leave work at five.”

“I will meet you _at work_ and walk you home,” Steve said firmly. “I know you, Bucky Barnes.”

“It's not my fault I fall into a fugue state,” Bucky protested. “I don't _mean_ to work fourteen hours a day!”

“And yet you do, and then who has to rub the ache out of your shoulders?” Steve's voice was light again, teasing. 

“I loooove you,” Bucky sing-songed, and laughed when Steve blew him a raspberry through the phone. “Right, Friday, look sharp, charm people, be arm candy. On it.”

“Thanks, honey. I'll let you get back to work. See you later?”

“Can't tonight, sorry baby. Tomorrow?”

“Deal. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

 

“Oh my God, your hair looks _fine_.”

Bucky ignored Steve and frowned at his reflection, flicking a single lock back into place. When had his hair started going so wavy? Okay, so it was raining out, but still –

“Buck, we're gonna be late. You look hot. C'mon.”

Well, he'd probably irritated Steve enough. He flashed his best smile, retrieved the giant umbrella that they could both take cover under, and they left, agreeing to walk the half-mile or so to the bar.

“So I look hot?” Bucky teased when they hit the street.

Steve rolled his eyes. “ _Yes_ . As you well know.”

“Still like hearing it.” And oh, ouch, he hadn't meant to be so honest – but he _did_ like hearing it, liked seeing how Steve's pupils sometimes widened just from looking at Bucky, liked knowing that he was still good-looking, and fuck everything if that made him vain.

Steve moved closer under the umbrella, wrapping his arm around Bucky's shoulders. “All you gotta do is ask. You're gorgeous, honey.”

“Thanks. I mean...yeah. Thank you.” He closed his eyes, just for a moment, when Steve kissed the side of his head. 

“Can't wait to take you home tonight,” Steve murmured in his ear, and Bucky felt his shoulders relax and a warmth spread in him. Yeah. It was all okay.

The bar was low-key and the room they'd rented had was decorated with fairy lights, Christmas music playing softly in the background, and a good two dozen people already there. Steve's arrival was greeted with a small roar of approval, much to Bucky's delight, with some of his closer friends converging on them. Bucky had already met a few of them, and fell into conversation easily, turning up the charm as requested.

They were quickly pulled apart, Steve to go talk to an older woman with her greying hair cut into a sharp buzzcut and Bucky to chat with a young man about prosthetics and what little he knew about finding funding for them. He kept half an eye on Steve, hyper-aware of where he was in the room and able to pick his voice out from the low hum of conversation, but he was fine. Exactly as Bucky had promised.

He worked his way through the room, chatting happily with Sam for a good quarter of an hour, comparing plans for Christmas (Steve and Bucky were going to stay home and decorate Bucky's apartment, Sam was going to to go DC to visit his vast collection of relatives). He got pulled away by someone else, another of the counselors, and spent longer than he meant getting lost in talking about Golden Age SF. Steve seemed cheerful enough, still in his corner with a drink in one hand, so Bucky gave his full attention to critiquing  _Perelandra_ .

He smiled when warm arms came around his waist, and Bucky leaned back against Steve, conversation unbroken. Pressure on his left arm – their code for  _I'm good don't worry_ and so he kept chattering away, grinning when Amy's eyes widened, just a touch, and she tried to hide a silly, warm smile at the sight of Captain America (former) and his boyfriend having a little cuddle in front of her. Steve even chipped in a comment or two until Amy had to leave, laughing when they pulled her into a hug together, Bucky squished in the middle of all of them.

“All good?” Bucky asked, turning around so he could meet Steve's eyes.

“Fantastic.” Steve blushed, and it wasn't just the warmth in the room. “I think...I have a job.”

“Stevie!” Bucky had no shame about jumping into Steve's arms and planting a kiss on him. “That's more than fantastic! Tell me!”

Steve laughed, and ducked his head. “God, it's not...it's not that impressive. It's just – Rayanne? The lady I was talking with? She's painting this huge mural at a school while they're on winter break and she knows I used to draw and paint and stuff, and she can afford to pay someone to help her so she asked and, um, I said yes.” He smiled shyly. “It's just for two weeks, but she does this kind of thing a lot, and I mean, she understands if I need to take a break or if I really can't come in that day. Although I haven't had a day like that in, um, a long time I guess.”

“Oh, baby.” Bucky smiled and kissed Steve again. “That is _so_ amazing. I'm so proud of you.” Another kiss. “You'll be awesome. I know it.”

Steve dropped his head again, clearly trying to hide his smile. “Buck, it's only two weeks of painting in a deserted school.”

“Could you have done that this time last year?”

“Um. Honestly, probably not.”

“Steve. Look at me.” No kisses this time, just Bucky reaching out and taking Steve's hand in his. “This is good. This is that progress everyone keeps promising you. This is _good_. You're allowed to be happy at your victories.”

“Stop talking to Sam, he's too much of a good influence on you,” Steve said, blushing furiously.

“I will not, if it means you actually accept that you're working hard and it's paying off.” Bucky squeezed his hand. “Now let me buy you a drink to celebrate, okay love?”

“Bucky, for heaven's sake...um. I mean yes, thank you very much and I will have a Rolling Rock.” He smirked at Bucky's barely-hidden wince. “I _like_ generic beer, and if it's a reward, I get to pick, right?” 

Steve's grin was particularly shit-eating, Bucky thought.

 

***

 

Steve looked down at a just-drunk-enough Bucky sprawled across his lap. “Hey, you.”

“Hi. I love you,” Bucky informed him.

“What have you had? I need to remember this,” Steve said, after he'd stopped laughing.

“Eggnog. Lots of it. The stuff Nat made from scratch.” Another gleeful smile. “What, I gotta be drunk to tell my boyfriend I love him?”

“In that tone of voice? Maybe.” Steve brushed the dark locks of hair off of Bucky's forehead. “Hey, beautiful.”

And oh, he didn't expect Bucky's smile to soften like that, the warm blush on his cheeks not just from whatever magical substance Nat had put in the eggnog.

“My gorgeous man,” Steve tried again, and was rewarded with an even deeper blush. “You are. You _know_ you are.”

“Stop using my insecurities for your own amusement.”

“Oh- _ho_ , look at how he feels when the tables are turned!” Steve crowed. 

“ _Steeeeeve_.”

Steve relented. After he'd laughed. And tickled Bucky, just a little, just to make him yelp in the most adorable way possible.

“Hey, guess what?”

“Chicken butt?”

“Ha ha you are so funny,” Steve deadpanned. “My boyfriend the comedian. No, really, guess what?”

Bucky gave a long-suffering sigh. “ _What_ .”

“I love you too.”

“Do I have to separate you two?” Nat asked, plopping herself down on Bucky's legs. “Also, Jesus, I know you've got legs for miles Barnes, but do you have to take up my _whole_ sofa?”

“Yes,” Bucky said sweetly, and stuck his tongue out at her.

“Steve, it's official, you're a saint,” Nat said.

“He is not in the least,” Bucky said, sitting up a little and situating Nat so she could have a little cuddle with both him and Steve. “Don't let those baby blues fool you.”

“Nat's right and you're wrong,” Steve announced. “I _am_ a saint. I worked ten hours yesterday and came home and made dinner anyway. Even you said so.”

“My own words, turned against me!” Bucky wailed, and Steve laughed because he could. Because he had the best relationship of his life, and there were friends around him and – oh. He hadn't mentioned that.

“Shut up and stop martyring yourself for a moment, I've got good news,” he said.

“Yeah, shut up and pay attention, Bucky,” Nat said, digging her fingers in just above his knee to make Bucky yelp.

“Steve, tell Nat to stop being mean to me and then tell me your good news,” Bucky whined.

“Nat, keep him in line. Both of you...um. I've got another job through Rayanne. Another mural. We're gonna design it together, though. She thinks it'll be a month of work this time.”

Neither Nat nor Bucky disappointed, both of them whooping and trying to hug him at once, Steve breaking down laughing and submitting to kisses from both of them.

“Why didn't you tell me earlier?” Bucky demanded.

“I didn't know 'til a few hours ago! And then we were, um, busy. Getting ready for tonight,” Steve said, hoping he wasn't blushing too hard. They had also been busy stretched out on Bucky's sofa half-undressed and kissing for hours. He, personally, had given Bucky a full-body massage that had left both of them practically glowing. Bucky's legs alone would make a classical sculptor weep.

“Uh huh.” Nat grinned, and hugged him tightly. “That's awesome Steve, really. Let me know if I can ever help with anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve said, suddenly a little shy, but so happy. “Thanks, Nat. Really.” She'd continuously seen him at his worst, and was still a good friend. And for what she's done for Bucky...he'd always love her a little, for that alone.

Nat excused herself to attend to something (namely, her friend Clint and a set of Nerf guns that had apparently specifically been banned), though she was quickly replaced by Sam. (Who Bucky  _did_ move his legs for.

“So you heard the good news?” he asked Bucky.

“Yes! It's awesome!”

Sam grinned, and clinked his glass with Bucky's. And, after some nudging, with Steve's. “Completely. Dude, you guys are gonna be great working together. How's it feel to be an artist again?”

“It's...good. Great, actually.” Steve smiled shyly. “I was thinkin' about taking some classes, actually, just to polish up my skills. And they barely _had_ 3-D printing when I was in high school, so I've never played with that, but it seems really cool. And my figure drawing is terrible, so --”

“Steve. You don't have to make excuses. Go for it. Let me know if you need help with funding and stuff, but you've got this,” Sam said. “Seriously.”

Steve blushed, and grinned. “Guess I do.”

“You really, really do,” Sam said, and squeezed Steve's shoulder. 

“See, Sam agrees with me,” Bucky chirped, and happily clinked glasses with Sam again.

“All _right_ , jeez,” Steve said, rolling his eyes with only slightly exaggerated annoyance. “Enough. How'd your Christmas go, anyway.”

Sam's eyes lit up. “Nieces. You guys, I have so many nieces. I recommend being kind to me, because someday I will be the uncle of the rulers of the world.”

“I have no doubt,” Bucky said. “Please ask them to be good to us.”

“Oh, they'll be awesome dictators,” Sam promised. “Oh, hey, you might be able to answer this – any good science camps for kids around DC? Imani wants to be a physicist, and she's kind of outstripping all the adults already in what she knows.”

Bucky's eyes lit up. “I know exactly the place, e-mail me on Monday and I'll send you the link. And next time she's in town, bring her by, I'll show her around – I mean, I'm just an engineer, but there'll be stuff she'll  _love_ .”

“Oh, God, you're not gonna get rid of her...”

“Then she'll remember me kindly when the Wilson Niece revolution comes,” Bucky said, still grinning. “Seriously, Sam. I would love to show her around my lab.”

“I'll talk to her mom, see when they can come to town next,” Sam promised. They caught up on Sam's extremely extended family a little more, until Bucky had to get up and go pee, and Steve went to refill their glasses, and then it was midnight and kissing when the ball dropped, and kissing again, because they could.

“Happy 2018,” Bucky whispered, holding Steve tight.

“This is gonna be a good year, isn't it?” Steve asked, arms looped around Bucky's waist, there but not too tight, gentle and present.

“Gonna be real hard to top 2017,” Bucky said. “But yeah, I think it is.”

Steve smiled, and buried his face in the curve of Bucky's neck, breathing in cologne and nutmeg and just  _Bucky_ . Two years ago, he'd been at war, a weapon pointed at an enemy. A year ago, he'd been alone in his apartment, too depressed to even be sad about the changing of the calendar. This year, he wasn't a weapon, he was an artist, or could be. He was a lover and a friend, he had bad days and good, but the good outnumbered the bad. He had a job, and he was making plans. A little at a time, and never alone – never, ever alone again.

Yeah. He could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you loved this 'verse as much as I have :)
> 
> I'm on tumblr at dietraumerei.tumblr.com


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